Borrowed Time
by workerbee73
Summary: There was nothing else to say, nothing to do. Nothing else for it. She had simply met the wrong brother first. K/L, pre-miniseries
1. Chapter 1

**Borrowed Time** K/L pre-mini fic (chapter 1/10)  
**Rating:** M (for later chapters, and because my pilots like to curse.... a lot)  
**Spoilers: **Through the mini-series.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything-- it's all RDM & Co. Just borrowing for a bit.  
**  
**_**There was nothing else to say, nothing to do. Nothing else for it. She had simply met the wrong brother first.**_

*******************

Prologue

_"WHO THE HELL IS IN CHARGE AROUND HERE?" _

Lee Adama was having a bad day. He didn't like to think of himself as someone who often lost his temper. In fact, his classmates at War College mocked him for being a paragon of self-control. Always good on the details, keeps his cool under pressure, clear-headed and resourceful in crisis situations—that was him, straight-and-steady Adama. His file was filled with such accolades. Never drank too much, never spoke too soon, never flew off the handle. But even paragons had their breaking points, and this was just too much. His saw a mop of dirty blond hair peeking out from under the sim console, and his vision turned red. He was cold, he was tired, he was soaking wet. All he wanted was to do was his godsdamn job, and someone was about to pay.

And to think, things had actually started out so well this morning.

******************

Chapter 1

He had just finished his Combat Tactics exam, and was getting ready to leave War College and spend his three-week vacation back home on Caprica. He had planned to go straight to the family's lake house and see how long he could do nothing but eat, sleep, and swim, but the week before, Zak had convinced him to stop by the Academy for a few days, and from there they planned go up together after Zak's exams were through. He kept going on and on about this girl he was dating, and how she was the most amazing thing ever, but he was very secretive about exactly _who_ she was. Just said she was military too and that he worshipped the ground she walked on, blah, blah, blah. Zak had been in love constantly since the day he turned 16, and Lee had lived through enough of his girlfriends that now he only listened half-heartedly to the overblown praises of his latest crush. But Zak was dying for him to meet his mystery girl, so after about the sixth ode to her awesomeness, Lee finally gave in and decided that two weeks of nothing to do at the lake would suffice. Besides, he never really could say no to his little brother.

Just as he was walking out the door, his phone rang. A man's voice on the other end verified his name and serial number, and told him to wait there until contacted. Within minutes, an unmarked car pulled up to his apartment, and he was whisked away. Twenty minutes later, he was sitting across from Major Lance Tiller.

Tiller had always been the stuff of legend around War College. He was head of the Military Intel Department, but seldom seen. He had been the leader of the counter-intelligence unit at the end of the First Cylon War. He knew things that were beyond classified, projects that didn't even exist. Rumor was that you didn't choose to take his classes; if he thought you were worth his time, he'd choose you.

So there he was, sitting in the dingy, windowless basement office of a bona-fide war hero and covert badass, wondering what he'd done to draw his attention. Tiller was a tough-looking man of medium height and build, with a haggard face that made him look much older than his 59 years. He didn't waste time.

"So, Adama, I hear you spent some time last year working with the Mark VII's when they were still in development. Hadrian says you're a helluva pilot, maybe even better than your old man."

Lee bristled slightly, but waited for him to continue. Tiller absently flipped through the file in front of him.

"Your record's also pretty impressive for a second year. Multiple commendations, high marks in all your classes. Seems that you have an aptitude for strategic thinking and a penchant for aerial combat."

"Thank you, sir." Lee wasn't quite sure where all this was going.

"I'm not saying this to kiss your ass, Lieutenant. I think you may be well-suited for a job I've got in mind. Interested in getting back in the cockpit?"

Flying again. Just the thought made Lee's heart skip a little. As much as he enjoyed the challenge of studying tactics and strategy, he missed being up in the sky. Strange as it sounded, it was about the only place he truly felt at peace with the worlds. The only thing he shared with his father that he didn't resent. He didn't even have to think about his answer.

"Yes, sir—definitely sir."

"Don't be so hasty, Lieutenant, it's not exactly a cakewalk." Tiller continued gruffly. "I hear you plan on spending some of your vacation at the Academy in Delphi. The Vipers School just got the first Mark VII's to use for training purposes, fresh off the showroom floor. I need you to conduct some further tests. I think that particular model has a lot of intelligence-gathering potential, and I want you to run some classified missions. The details are all here." He slid a plain sealed envelope across the desk.

Lee looked down at the "Top Secret" stamp. He'd never had that kind of clearance before—it was almost unheard of for a mere Lieutenant to get access to that level of information.

Fortunately, Tiller had the uncanny (and disturbing) ability to read his mind. "You're probably wondering why I'm choosing a second-year Lieutenant for this kind of thing." Lee nodded slightly, and Tiller continued. "I need someone with talent and intelligence, but I also need to play this close to the vest. Besides, it's much better cover to actually get a student to appear to get in a few extra hours of flight time on his vacation than it would be to fabricate the whole story."

Lee nodded again, only half following the major's train of thought. But he more than understood the warning in his words. _Absolute secrecy, plausible deniability. Got it._

Tiller's voice snapped him out of his reverie. "One more thing. You're going to need a partner for some of those drills." He opened a second file on his desk. "There's an instructor at the flight school that I think will work well. Lieutenant Thrace—callsign: Starbuck. 'Bout a year behind you at the Academy, I think. I want to you recruit her for this; she should be a good asset."

_Starbuck_. Lee remembered the name from his senior year. They never ran into each other—the Academy was a big place—but he would periodically hear stories about some junior pilot who kept breaking all the records (some of them his). Lee frowned slightly. The only thing he knew about Starbuck was that her lack of discipline was second only to her purported flying skills. She'd allegedly racked up more trips to the brig than any other cadet. Ever.

It seemed that Tiller was reading his mind again. "She's had her disciplinary scuffles, sure, but her skills make her ideally suited for the job. Not to mention her position as an instructor; it will be sure not to attract attention." Tiller cracked a rare half-smile. "Besides, you're such a straight arrow, Apollo. You should have no trouble handling her."

He closed the file and looked up. "Good luck Lieutenant. If all goes well, I hope that we can welcome you back next semester as _Captain_ Adama. And remember, this assignment is off the books. If anyone asks, you're just spending time with an old Academy friend."

Lee stood up and saluted before turning to walk out the door. Covert operative recruitment? A guaranteed promotion? Impossible flying assignments? Going up against the only pilot in recent history to have challenged his legacy? He began to smile to himself.

Maybe _one_ week of doing nothing at the lake would have to suffice.

*****************

Twelve hours later, Lee was seriously rethinking his decision. After starting out with the long shuttle ride from the Tauron War College campus to the Academy, he arrived in Delphi running on about two hours sleep. He was more than ready to start on his new assignment—but only after catching up on what seemed like a week's worth of sleep on his brother's couch, or whatever they passed off as guest accommodations in the dorms these days. As fate would have it, he picked one of Delphi's three annual rainy days to arrive, and after spending another hour waiting at the transport station, he decided Zak had forgotten to pick him up. So he hiked all the way across campus to the nugget quarters in a massive downpour. Soggy and tired, he was greeted only by a note on the door in his brother's messy scrawl:

_Hey Lee—had last-minute survival exercise. Be gone for a few days—see ya when I get back._

- _Zak_

Just frakking brilliant, he thought. Looks like he wouldn't be sleeping any time soon, then. Might as well go ahead and find his 'old Academy buddy' Starbuck, he thought warily. At least she was an instructor; maybe she could find him a temporary place to crash.

He trudged back through the rain toward the flight school hangars, mentally reviewing the details of Tiller's assignment. He'd read the whole thing on the transport over and damn near committed it to memory already. Tiller wanted to start with maneuvers and move all the way up to mini-missions, and some of things he wanted to try were downright mind-boggling. He honestly didn't know how he was going to live through some of those assignments. Old buddy Starbuck had better be one hell of a flyer, he thought. A few wrong moves and they could easily end up dead. Best to start with the sims and go from there, he decided, slicking the rain out of his eyes.

When he finally arrived at the sims hangar, he dropped his duffle and shrugged out of his green field jacket. The first thing he noticed was the lack of people. It was a Thursday morning—this place should be crawling with students and instructors. Instead, all he saw was a trail of beer cans, cigar butts and triad cards. Some kind of music was blaring in the back. Following the trail and the sound, he walked into the sims training room. At first, he thought it was sleep deprivation causing him to hallucinate; there was no way he could be seeing this.

What the hell had happened here? It looked like the leftover ruins of some ancient temple feast. Toga parties, they used to be called in the old days. Shorthand for unbridled debauchery was more like it. There was trash everywhere, random clothing hanging on shelves and tables and even a few light fixtures, and several ambrosia bottles mixed in with the beer cans on the floor. But that wasn't even the worst part.

In the front of the room, past the desks where the nuggets normally would have sat were the sims, or what was left of them. Each viper cockpit was surrounded by piles of wires and cables. This wasn't an overhaul—it looked like someone had mutilated the internal mechanisms to the point they were almost unrecognizable.

The sim violence was the absolute last straw. What kind of godsdamn show were these people running? Lee considered himself a reasonable person, but this went way beyond the realm of sanity. He was cold, tired, and hungry, and all he wanted to do was find this damnable Starbuck, get started on the assignment and find a godsdamn bed for the night. Lieutenant Adama, paragon of virtue and self-control, model cadet and soon-to-be War College graduate, could take no more. He heard a scuffling sound over the music, and saw a mop of dirty blonde hair bobbing in time with the tempo. His eyes narrowed and his vision turned red.

He bellowed over the background noise: _"WHO THE HELL IS IN CHARGE AROUND HERE!?"_

Lee Adama had finally lost his temper.

********************

Kara Thrace took a swig of warm beer and focused back on the wiring in the sims control panel. Sometimes the best way to get over a hangover was to avoid sobering up. If she kept drinking through the morning, there was a good chance she could avoid the massive headache that was threatening to descend. And after all the ambrosia she drank last night, that would be a very good thing indeed.

She probably shouldn't have drank so much last night, but injuries were a casualty of war. Besides, she had needed some alone time, and what better way to orchestrate that than organize an all-night triad tournament between nuggets and instructors? Sure the nuggets didn't stand a chance, especially with her in the game, but that didn't stop them from trying to get revenge on the dreaded flight staff. Of course, she dropped out after a while, and once the nuggets started to win, the instructors decided that a 3-day survival exercise was just the thing to put them back in their place. So the nuggets were bundled off into the muddy wilderness, and the instructors who didn't go to inflict more torture were simply sleeping off the night's effects. Being the newest instructor, she got the honor of staying behind to clean up the mess and install the sims program with the new Mark VII training software, which suited her just fine. She wanted to be alone right now.

She needed time to think, and she needed some distance from Zak. He had announced yesterday that he'd invited his brother to come down after exams. His big-deal, super-hotshot pilot War College brother. _Old what's-his-name_. Every time Zak spoke about him, you could hear the hero worship just oozing from his voice. And he wanted him to meet _her_. Then he mumbled something about coming home to meet his mother. That's when Kara felt the blood starting to drain from her face. How did this get so serious all of the sudden? They just started sleeping together a few months ago. Where the hell was this going? Kara Thrace did not do family.

At that moment, Kara heard a very loud, very male voice bellowing through the room.

"Ouch! Frak! FRAK!" she yelled, bumping her head on the console. Some idiot was screaming at her, making her drop the live wire she was handling, shocking the crap out of her forearm. She scrambled up into a sitting position, still cradling her arm, trying to turn around so she could look at the loudmouth frakker who nearly made her electrocute herself.

"Godsdammit!" she shouted back, "What the hell are you doing?"

She turned around and found herself staring into the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. They were like bright, clear glass—so vivid she was sure they would glow in the dark if someone had turned out the lights. They were livid, and staring right back at her. The eyes were attached to a face that was far too attractive for Kara's liking. It was all planes and angles, a long straight nose, sharp cheekbones, and square jaw clenched in agitation. It was equally distracting that he was soaking wet, water dripping down his face and neck. Her eyes unwillingly followed those drops trailing down to his chest and arms. It almost didn't matter that he was wearing tanks; she could see every line and plane of muscle on his chest and abdomen.

Gods, but he was far too good-looking. And arrogant too, no doubt. He had that military born-and-bred look to him, like he just woke up one day as a senior officer and expected everyone to bow down. The expression on his face made her want to sock him in the mouth just to wipe it off. Her fists involuntarily clenched as she stared him down. There was no way she was going to give an inch to some stuck-up officer elite. She stood up.

"And just who the hell are you?" she snapped.

Those eyes sparked again—a bit of surprise, maybe?—and he went back on the attack. "I've come a long way to see Lieutenant Thrace. I need to speak with her immediately on an urgent matter, and I also need to speak with your superior immediately. Someone needs to report whatever it is that's happened here."

He was here to speak with _her_? And he wanted to speak with her _superior_? No doubt he concluded that she was some minion running wild about the place. Her hackles raised even further and she took a step towards him. "Of all the godsdamn nerve. For your information, I'm the officer in charge here, and anything you need to report can damn well go through me." She crossed her arms and held her chin even higher as she finished.

She didn't think it was possible, but those eyes got even wider and even more intense. She must really be pissing him off, she thought with a measure of satisfaction. At the same time, she couldn't help but notice that the angrier he got, the more attractive he became. Suddenly, the phrase '_Frak or Fight_?' became strangely applicable, and for a split second, she couldn't decide which she'd rather do. She shook herself mentally, focusing on the task at hand.

"_You're_ in charge?" His voice was laced with derision and disbelief. "How in the hell is that possible? What the hell happened here last night?"

Kara was more than done with this conversation. "Just a bit of student-teacher celebration," she sneered, inching closer to get uncomfortably inside his personal space. Standard intimidation tactic. "It's a pilot thing. The nuggets took their basic flight exams yesterday. I stayed behind to install the sims programs, and that's a helluva lot more than you have any right to know." Kara was on a roll, she couldn't stop herself. "Now since my _superior_ won't be back until tomorrow, I suggest you get the hell out of my hangar. I'm sure your super-important business with Lieutenant Thrace can wait until then."

She saw the tendons throbbing in his neck. His breathing quickened, and for a split second, she could have sworn he was having the same 'frak or fight' idea run through his head too. He glanced down at her lips, and then back up to her eyes. Her heart skipped a beat. The atmosphere remained unbearably charged for another few seconds, and then he spoke again.

"Well, I guess I'll just have to come back when they don't leave a raving lunatic in charge," he said sharply, and then turned on his heel and walked out the door.

_Bastard_, Kara thought, as her eyes unwillingly followed him out the door. Still, she couldn't help but admire his spirit. Not many men could go to-to-toe with Starbuck and live to tell the tale.


	2. Chapter 2

**Borrowed Time** K/L pre-mini fic (chapter 2/10)  
**Rating:** still M  
**Disclaimer: **It all belongs to RDM & Co.

**Author Notes:** I wasn't planning to post this chapter quite so soon, but I feel like we could use a shot of old-school pilot awesomeness right now…

Remember, Feedback = LUV. And I'd love to hear your thoughts!!

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**CHAPTER 2**

A couple of hours later, Lee was still smarting from his encounter in the sims hangar. Luckily, he finally managed to find a place to crash after running into some old Academy friends who were able to hook him up with a guest officer's apartment. It was fairly large and comfortable, and he couldn't wait to get a little shuteye. But once he laid down, he could not get the hotheaded blonde pilot out of his head.

What kind of crazy training program were they running these days? Trashing the sims hangar? And leaving someone like _her_ in charge? It boggled the mind.

Gods, but she was kind of beautiful, he thought in shock. And more than a little frightening. Full lips parted, arms crossed tightly, pushing her breasts up into his line of vision. A pixie mop of messy blonde hair, with pieces falling down to partially obscure her eyes. And those eyes. They looked brown at first, but on closer inspection, they were swimming with green and gold. Hypnotic—and on the verge of some intense violence. He couldn't help getting one last look at her mouth before walking out the door. What would those lips have tasted like?

_What was he thinking?_ She was about two seconds away from decking him back there. Why the hell was he thinking about kissing that madwoman? He must be losing it himself. Chalk it up to sleep deprivation. She wasn't even his type. He never went for loud, brash women, and he never dated military. Yet, crazy as it was, the image of the pissed off blonde hellion stayed in his head as he drifted off to sleep.

It was dark outside when he woke up. Finally feeling refreshed, he realized he was still hungry, and decided to go out in search of some food. Maybe he could hit up one of the local bars and try to get a beat on this Starbuck. She had to be around here somewhere. Surely someone with her reputation for hard living would have staked a claim at one or other of the local watering holes. He quickly changed clothes, relishing the opportunity to trade the fatigues for some civvie duds, and headed out into the night.

Three bars later, he'd found some pretty good food, even better ambrosia, but still no flight instructor. He figured he better change tactics—perhaps the places he'd been trying were too upstanding. He turned off the main strip, down an alley where some of the more notorious Academy dives were located. At the end of the narrow alley was a half-lit sign that read _Anthony's_. It looked like the most rough-and-tumble of spots in a pretty rough-and-tumble neighborhood, so he figured it would be a good place to start. He walked inside to the bar and sat down. After a couple of minutes, he was able to get the bartender's attention.

Shockingly enough, the burly guy's name was in fact Anthony. The big guy skeptically raised an eyebrow. "You don't look like a regular."

"Nah, just a pilot here on leave. Say, you wouldn't happen to know some flight instructor named Thrace, would you? Callsign's Starbuck."

On hearing this, Anthony's face showed even more disbelief. "You want to see Starbuck? Seriously?"

_Why so much drama?_ Lee thought. It's not like he was requesting access to the President. It had been a long evening, and his patience was starting to wear thin. "Look, do you know where I can find her or not?"

Anthony shrugged. "Sure. She's right over there. Corner booth…" He gave Lee another glance and muttered, "…approach at your own risk."

Lee ignored the vague warning as he scanned the room. One corner was empty, and the other was partially obscured by a group of guys—cadets celebrating some final exam, no doubt. He could just make out the outline of someone seated in the corner. Walking toward the group, he could see the silhouette of a female figure sitting alone. Black tank, green fatigues—she looked military, at least what he could see. He saw a bit of blonde hair peeking out from behind the nearest cadet, and he couldn't figure out why that particular shade should look so familiar….

At that moment, the group of guys parted long enough for him to see her face. Recognition hit like a punch to the gut.

No way.

_No. Frakking. Way._

Sitting in the corner booth was the raving lunatic herself, minus the grease smudges and cut-off sweats. Her hair was pushed back into a bit more order than it had been before, but it was definitely the same woman. She was wearing a tight-fitting black tank top, nursing a beer, and looking over papers of some kind. She was bent over in concentration, a ball point pen absently pushing against the fullness of her lower lip.

The thoughts slowly formed in his head.

Thrace….._Starbuck_……His 'old Academy buddy.' The woman who had allowed the complete destruction of the sims hangar, the woman he was going to have to trust his life to. Disciplinary problem, genius pilot, and far, far too appealing for Lee's liking. This woman was trouble.

And for the next two weeks, she was also his new best friend.

*************

Kara desperately needed a distraction. If she had to grade one more essay tonight, she was going to lose her mind.

She glanced around the bar. It was pretty quiet tonight, except for a group of loudmouth male cadets sitting at a table in front of her. No doubt celebrating the end of the term. They looked like sophomores or juniors, and a couple of them had thrown a few suggestive glances her way already.

She shrugged. Not interested. Besides, she was dating someone—for now. Although she wasn't sure how much longer it was going to stay that way if Zak kept up all this meet-the-brother-and-mother talk. Things were moving a bit too fast there. She laughed to herself. Wouldn't they just love good 'ole drinking and swaggering Starbuck? What would they think of her? They'd probably give her the same look as that stuck-up jackass who busted in on her this morning.

If he'd stuck around longer, Kara could have thought of some choice words for _him_, arrogant bastard that he was. Still, for all that smug certainty, she had to admit that he sure did look nice standing there dripping wet from the rain. Reluctantly, she smiled to herself. Arrogant bastard persona aside, he certainly was a nice distraction. If he hadn't been such an ass, she would have been sorely tempted to help him get out of those tanks. Boyfriend or no, that man was easy on the eyes. _Yummy_ was the word that came to mind.

Having the nagging suspicion that she was being stared at, she looked up. What she saw made her breath catch. It was as if her own personal demon saw fit to grant her unspoken wish. There he was, Mr. Distraction himself, standing not ten feet away. Lords, but he looked even better than he had this morning. The blue jeans hugged his body nicely and the white shirt set off his eyes, making them even bluer. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, revealing well-muscled forearms and—there was no other word for it—elegant hands. Without the water, she could tell that his hair was medium brown, cropped close, yet slightly messy on top. Oh yes, definitely yummy. And he was staring straight at her.

…_And_ walking towards her, apparently. He stopped in front of her table.

Shaking herself out of her daydream, she put on the fabled Starbuck persona and went to work. She shot him a withering look. "Come to apologize?"

He arched an eyebrow. "That depends… _Lieutenant Thrace_." He pronounced her name carefully. Warily. "You gonna talk to me this time, or should I just wait for the punches to start flying?"

Kara leaned back and crossed her arms. "Well, if you're here to make amends, buying me a drink would certainly be a good start."

He paused for a moment, a scathing remark seemed ready to fly out of his mouth. He took a deep breath, and she could see him rein it in, putting his self-control back into place. _Fascinating_.

"All right," he finally said. Turning, he went back to the bar and returned with a bottle of ambrosia and two glasses. He sat down cautiously and poured them each a drink. "Acceptable?"

She glanced down at the label on the bottle and raised an eyebrow. "Marginally so," she quipped.

"Look, my name is Lieutenant—"

"Not so fast, flyboy." She cut him off. "I haven't decided to talk to you yet."

Another deep breath. "So what's it gonna take to help you make up your mind?"

She could tell his patience was straining. It made the cords in his neck stand out just a bit more and his breathing speed up slightly. She decided driving him crazy was a fun game indeed. And dangerous. Her mind began to wander. _You could start by dragging me across this table and kissing the hell out of me… or maybe up against the wall… or maybe I could just climb into your lap and_—

"Thrace?" He was looking at her with the strangest expression. She must have completely spaced out for minute. He started rambling on about some important business he had to discuss with her. She shook herself mentally, deciding that conversation would have to wait until she wasn't so easily distracted. She needed to work out some physical aggression at the moment, and since ripping off his shirt was out of the question, she needed a Plan B.

"Look, I'll tell you what," she interrupted, stopping him mid-sentence. "I'll talk to you about whatever's so godsdamned important if you help me win some spending money." She glanced over at the table of rowdy cadets. "I see some folks whose wallets need a little lightening. How 'bout a game of pyramid?"

His expression was baffled as he followed her eyes. "What? Are you serious?"

She took one look at his adorable bewilderment and grinned mischievously. "Come on, flyboy. Time's a wastin'."

Gods knew how many hours later, they had finished off the last of the ambrosia and were getting ready to win their sixth straight game against the cadets. Kara decided that, for all his faults, she and mystery man made a fantastic team. The mini-pyramid game at _Anthony's_ was a far-cry from the real thing—there was no contact or maneuvering for position—but it did require a certain amount of skill and strategic thought. You only had so many moves to get into position before taking a shot, and being able to anticipate what your partner was going to do next made all the difference.

Fortunately, she and Mr. Distraction had the uncanny ability to read each other's moves. Almost like their bodies were somehow in tune with each other. It was strange, Kara thought, and utterly addictive. The more they played, the more she wanted to keep going, keep testing this strange connection they had. Although he didn't say much (Kara had the market cornered on trash talk), she could have sworn he felt it too. Most of the time, he would set up the shots, figuring out the best approach to get her within scoring range. Once he did that, she more than handled the rest.

After scoring the point to win their seventh game, one of the burlier cadets began grumbling about the game being fixed.

This was an opening she couldn't resist. "Fixed? You've got to be kidding me. We don't need any special help to beat your sorry asses." She glanced over at Mr. Distraction, who threw her what appeared to be his best silencing glare. That was all the encouragement she needed. _Let's see how pretty boy does under pressure_.

A second cadet swaggered over to her, three sheets to the wind and very pissed off. "You better watch what you say, you stupid frakkin' bitch."

"Aww….." she cooed. "I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm gonna have to deduct points for originality." At that moment, the second cadet lunged for her. She sidestepped quickly, ducking and sweeping into a roundhouse kick to the young man's chest. He stumbled backwards and smashed into a table, but she spent a second too long celebrating her victory, giving the third cadet behind her a chance to pin her arms behind her back.

The first cadet swaggered over, clearly thinking he had the advantage. "Not so tough now are you, blondie?"

"Oh just try me," she taunted, a wild light gleaming in her eye. "_Please_." But before she could extract herself from her captor, she heard a lazy voice from behind the cadet in front of her.

"I'm sorry gentlemen, but I don't think the lady wants to dance."

As soon as he turned, Mr. Distraction hit him with a combination punch to the face and gut, sending him stumbling over the nearest table. Really, it was rather magnificent to behold. Those were the last coherent thoughts she had, as all hell proceeded to break loose. With the help of an elbow and a well-placed instep kick, she freed herself. The room soon became a blur of swinging arms and legs, although it appeared she and mystery man had the upper hand. Someone smashed a bottle (or three) and a chair went sailing past her head at one point, but throughout all the action, she never lost track of where he was. Like in the pyramid game earlier, they wove in and out of the fray together, ending up back to back as she felled the last of drunken cadets. Exhausted and exhilarated, she leaned back against her partner's shoulder and murmured breathlessly in his ear.

"Impressive, flyboy," she grinned. "You should get out more often."

************

Kara Thrace was indeed a raving lunatic. Completely demented and deranged. But he had to give her credit, she took out two guys twice her size with alarming efficiency. Of course, it helped that he had been there to take out the other two. He moved his tongue along the inside of his mouth, carefully checking the bruise on his cheek. He winced. Yeah, that was going to leave a mark.

"Awww. Did you hurt that pretty face?"

"Shove it." Lee snarked back. "My pretty face saved your ass."

They were both sitting in the alley outside _Anthony's_, propped up against the brick exterior of the far wall. Victorious as they were, Anthony didn't seem to appreciate their little display of strength and promptly kicked them out. From the ease with which Starbuck left, it was clear that it wasn't her first conspicuous exit from this particular establishment.

"Saved it? Not quite. But you did offer a bit of assistance. And since I believe in settling my debts, how 'bout we split the winnings?" She reached into her pocket and pulled out the stack of bills they'd won—and defended.

"If that's the least you can do." He scoffed and stuffed his half in his shirt pocket. "So now that I've proven my worth, will you finally agree to talk to me?"

She thought for a minute, then relented. "Why not? But not tonight, flyboy. Girl's gotta get her beauty sleep. Let's say sims hangar at 0900? Unless you want to orchestrate another mini-pyramid tournament." Her eyes sparkled in the dark.

"You honestly want to keep doing this all night?" His eyebrows threatened to arch into his hairline. He leaned his head back against the rough brick and let out a resigned sigh. "Lords, I knew it. You're completely insane."

She wiped the blood from her lower lip, and he was momentarily transfixed as her tongue darted out to lick the last bit off. "Yeah, well…everyone has a skill," she said with a self-deprecating grin. "Besides, you're pretty good to have around in a sticky situation."

Her grin was infectious, and he could feel his face breaking into a reluctant smile. "So now you decide to shower me with compliments?"

"Don't be so hasty, sunshine. I just meant that you may not be a complete ass after all."

"Gee, thanks. Glad I was able to work my way into your good graces."

"Don't mention it. Now as much as I'd love to stay here and chat all night, I do have a meeting in the morning with a certain tight-ass viper jock." She chuckled as she pushed herself off the wall. "Lord knows I'm gonna need my rest. 'Night flyboy." And with that, she sauntered off.

Lee sat there for a few minutes longer, just trying to process this crazy day. What had he gotten himself into? He had the sneaking suspicion that he'd just stepped off a cliff into the abyss. No, not abyss, he corrected. Into the orbit of Starbuck.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author Notes:** This chapter's a nice little K/L cocktail with a dash of Snark, a dollop of Flying, and a healthy dose of Sexual Tension. And to finish? A chaser of undiluted Angst. Drink up, kids.

And remember, comments are love! : )

****************

CHAPTER 3

"Are you frakking serious? You mean it? _Seriously_?"

She could frakking kiss this man. Shove her tongue right down his frakking throat—and not just  
because the cut over his eye and the bruise on his cheek made him look even hotter than when he'd been soaking wet yesterday—or even last night. A freaking black ops mission? For a first-year instructor? She felt giddy and lightheaded.

She actually felt like giggling even more when she finally found out his callsign.

_Apollo_. God of the sun. It was such a cocky bastard name of a callsign. It suited him perfectly. She vaguely remembered hearing about an 'Apollo' at the Academy. He was a year or two ahead of her—she had broken some of his flight records (along with a good many others'). Last name Adams? Adler? Whatever. The important thing was that he was offering her a dream assignment. Highly complicated, extremely dangerous, certainly impossible for any other mere mortal, but it seemed tailor-made for her. She couldn't wipe the stupid grin off her face if she tried.

Suddenly she stopped. "This is for real, right? There's not a hidden camera somewhere—you really mean it?"

Mr. Sun God himself sat across from her, looking slightly exasperated. "Obviously I meant it, Starbuck. I've said it three times now. You've been selected for this mission." He wiggled his jaw and winced. "You think I go seeking out barfights for fun?"

She giggled good-naturedly. "Might help you get that stick out of your ass."

He gave her an icy glare then resumed looking at the mission folder. "We need to….

Kara tuned out as he went back over the details. She already knew the important stuff. Sims training, then actual flight maneuvers, followed by the most insane high altitude stunt she'd ever heard of. It was so crazy and brilliant, she could almost kiss the frakker who'd thought of it, whoever that was. It would take a week, maybe two, to get them in shape for the final assignment. She was so damn excited she could barely keep still.

_Enough talking already_. She jumped into his lecture on high altitude protocol midway through. "What are we waiting for, Apollo? We both know all this stuff already. Let's get started!" She practically dragged him all the way to the sims hangar, handing him random gear as she passed by the equipment locker. Luckily, she had finished installing the Mark VII software before she left yesterday.

He stopped short when they reached the training room. No doubt shocked that the place was back in order.

"What?" she quipped. "Don't think I'm capable of picking up my toys?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Certainly is quite a transformation."

She stood next to him, hands impatiently resting on her hips. She felt so tightly coiled she was about to spring. "Enough talk. Let's go, Apollo. It's time to see if you live up that ridiculous callsign of yours."

He gave her a sideways smirk and raised an eyebrow. "And if your reputation is anything other than drunk and disorderly."

"Been reading up on me?"

He sent her another smug look. "Your file's quite the page-turner. The brig visits and demerits I can believe, but I'm pretty sure some of those flying stunts were greatly exaggerated."

Her eyes sparkled in challenge. "Why don't we find out, then?"

Turned out they were both right. Three hours and sixteen Mark VII sim programs later, as the flight screen dimmed and switched off, Kara lay back in the cockpit, astonished and amazed. She could barely catch her breath. _How was that possible?_ It was like he _felt_ every move she made before she even thought of it herself. Likewise, she could predict his actions, almost without fail. He was a bit more hesitant than her, not willing to take the same kind of risks. Everything was about strategy for him. But instead of being a frustrating trait, it matched her impulsiveness perfectly. She sucked another mouthful of air into her lungs and exhaled slowly. Gods, but that was astounding.

Ever since she began flying, she had always been the best. There had never been any question. From the very beginning, she'd made it a habit to blow away all of the other students (and more than a few teachers and fellow instructors) with her abilities. It just came naturally, like breathing. She just figured it was some kind of savant talent—wonderful and brilliant, but also a bit isolating. Something that she'd never be able to share with anyone else. She was wrong.

He wasn't quite as good as she was; his instinct was too tightly controlled. He wasn't so eager to defy the odds, but that was precisely why they worked together. One to dance along the edge of the fire, and one to pull back. _Light and dark, fire and ice_. My gods, her skin was tingling all over just thinking about it. She felt the familiar tug of sexual desire deep inside her belly. Lords, was there such a thing as an aviation orgasm? If so, she'd just had one. She couldn't believe it. There was no way that Lieutenant Tight-Ass was that good.

**************

Lee sat in his cockpit thinking exactly the same thing about a certain raving lunatic. There was no way—but somehow, it was true. The thoughts whirled inside his head.

Gods, she actually _was_ that good. That was … amazing. There was no other word for it. He had flown with lots of other pilots before, many of them with years more training and experience in vipers. But never had he done anything like that. It's like they were connected. That pyramid game last night wasn't a fluke; there was definitely something between them. My gods, he didn't even know flying like that was possible. She was all instinct, and he was all thought and planning. It never should have worked, but it did. And it was damn near perfect.

She was better than him, he realized. Normally this would have bothered him, seeing as he was used to being the most technically proficient pilot no matter who the company. Funny enough, he didn't seem to mind all that much. Her flying style was riskier—at times, it was down right suicidal—but somehow flying with her just felt … right. He smiled to himself. Gods, if they could do that in the sims, just think what they could do in actual birds. The thought was like an aphrodisiac.

He climbed out of the sims cockpit, still shaking with adrenaline and exhilaration. He pulled off his helmet and let it fall to the floor. He looked across the space between the two sims. She was standing right in front of him, about six feet away. She pulled off her helmet too, and they just stared at each other. Panting. Trying to suck in whatever oxygen was left in the room. They were silent, completely absorbed in each other. It was as if they were both in a trance, afraid to break the spell by uttering some casually dismissive phrase.

She had the most beautiful expression of surprise and pleasure on her face, like she'd just discovered a new sexual position she'd never thought possible. Her lips were parted from the exertion, her chest rising and falling rhythmically. Her hair and face were drenched in sweat, and her cheeks were flushed a lovely shade of pink. There was no amount of cubits in the worlds that could make him look away from her right now. Her eyes still locked with his, she slowly began to unzip her flightsuit, pulling the zipper down past her waistline. As if in a trance, she shrugged out of the arms, opening the two halves of the suit and pushing them down to her hips. Finally, she knotted the sleeves like a belt around her waist.

Never taking his eyes away from hers, he did the same, until they were both down to their tanks. She was radiant, impossible to look away from. Her throat glistened with sweat, and he could see the beads cascading down from her neck to the top of her breasts. He was overcome with the most irrational desire to lick off every drop. His eyes were greedy-- he wanted to see more of that glistening skin.

Almost as if she heard his thoughts, she began to peel off her tanks one at a time, revealing a creamy expanse of smooth, soft stomach and round breasts covered only by her black sports bra. Never breaking eye contact, she used the inner grey tank to wipe the sweat from her skin, acting out the fantasies of his hands and mouth. Arms, neck, stomach, breasts. Watching her perform such a simple act was just about the most erotic thing he'd ever seen.

She dropped her tanks on the floor, panting, yet standing so very still. Waiting for him to make a move. His mind calculated how many steps it would take to reach her, how many seconds before his lips could touch hers, what he would do next. He could reach her in two-and-a-half strides, it would be about three seconds before he kissed her, one second later he would wrap an arm around her waist and the other against her neck to cushion her head as he pushed her back against the canopy….

Suddenly, a phone rang in the distance, breaking the spell. Snapping them both out of whatever it was they were about to do. She looked at him one last time before stalking off. He could have sworn he heard her mutter the words _Frak me_ under her breath. Oh yeah. _Frak me indeed_.

He heard her talking on the phone, and he began to pack up his gear, still in a daze. They really needed to find some time to resume that … _conversation_ later.

********************

"Kara, hon, is that you?"

Hearing Zak's voice at that moment had the same effect as if someone had dumped a glass of ice water on her head. The pleasant sheen of perspiration on her skin promptly turned into outright cold sweat as she tried to concentrate.

"Great news. We got done with our survival exercise early, so I'll be home tonight." He continued breathlessly, "How about dinner?..."

Kara desperately tried to slow down her heart rate as Zak prattled on. _Concentrate Thrace. Focus. Boyfriend is on the phone right now_. She finally began to listen. He was saying something about plans for the evening. Finally, she found her voice.

"Ok, sounds fine. I'll meet you there at 7:30. Ok—ok—no, that's fine, I'll just see you there. No—ok—you too. Bye."

She hung up the phone and stared down at her hand. Was she shaking? Kara Thrace, reduced to a puddle of goo by some fancy flying tricks, then caught like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar when she heard Zak's voice? Ridiculous. A few deep breaths and she should be fine.

_Boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend_, she chanted to herself. Zak was still her boyfriend. And she was crazy about him, she really was, despite all his meet-the-family pushiness. He was definitely the nicest guy to ever happen to a train wreck like her. And sexy and charming to boot. So why was it so damn hard to focus right now?

What the hell had she been thinking? She'd been about to do gods-knew-what with Lieutenant Tight-Ass back there. And from the look on his face, she could tell that he had pretty much been thinking the same thing. What the frak was that about? She didn't even like him. Much.

Calm down Thrace, she told herself. It's just the adrenaline rush. It's normal. Something you understand from your first day of training. The physical intensity, the euphoric high, it was all perfectly normal. Trouble was, it usually didn't feel this strong. In fact, Kara had never felt anything like it. While adrenaline and euphoria could mimic a sexual high, the act of flying itself was not supposed to feel that much like actual … sex.

Kara needed to get out of there, stat. A cold shower and a couple shots of ambrosia should cool her heels. Right now she needed to get out of close proximity to a certain black ops mission partner. She grabbed her bag and tried not to sprint out of her office. Unfortunately, she had to go back through the training room on her way out.

"Sorry to cut and run, flyboy, but I've gotta go. We can finish up the rest tomorrow."

Was that hurt she saw in his face? "What? Thrace, we still have to review the sims footage, and after that—"

She cut him off. It was the only way to get out of there. "Sorry Apollo, no can do. Some of us have a social life. I'll see you tomorrow, ok?"

She didn't wait for a response, just grabbed her jacket and headed straight for the door. Outside, the fresh air began to clear her head. Good. Fresh air and a nice quiet dinner with the boyfriend. Just what she needed to refocus. By morning, she'd have no trouble dealing with Mr. Distraction or his ridiculous flying skills.

She arrived at her apartment and headed straight for the shower. A good while later, she emerged, feeling much more in control of herself. She couldn't believe how she'd almost made a complete fool of herself back there. Peeling off her tanks? Standing there waiting for him to make some kind of move? It was beyond ridiculous. Still, she couldn't help but remember how it had felt in the sims with him. _Unlike anything else_, she had to admit. Almost as if she could read his mind. And lords, but he sure did look nice standing there in front of her covered in sweat. A little voice nagged inside her head. Maybe there was something there—_maybe_ she had finally met her match. The thought simultaneously thrilled and terrified her, and she dismissed it quickly.

Who was she kidding? As if Mr. Sun God would ever look at her that way. He was uptight military elite, born with a silver spoon, no doubt. They had nothing in common … except flying.

She scoffed. As much as she loved flying, it certainly wasn't reason enough to throw out a perfectly good relationship. And for what? Some kind of super-exaggerated aviation high? Zak may have his faults, and he might be rushing things a bit, but he was crazy about her, and accepted her just the way she was. Unlike a certain mission partner. In all their encounters so far, she could practically feel disapproval oozing out of his pores. There was no way he felt anything for her other than condescension. And for some inexplicable reason, the thought made her sad.

She grabbed some civvie clothes, dressed, and headed out to meet Zak. As was her habit, she was a couple minutes late arriving at the restaurant. Zak had picked a place a few klicks off the Academy's campus, close to downtown Delphi. It was pretty nice—must be a special occasion, she thought. The place was sleek and modern, all glass and metal. It was crowded too, so she figured she'd just head for the bar and find him there.

She ordered a beer and stood by at the bar, scanning the place to try and find him. Zak spotted her first though, and she soon saw him weave through the crowds with an enthusiastic smile on his face. Zak had that rare ability to light up a place by sheer force of personality. He wasn't terribly handsome in a traditional sense, but he had a certain kind of charisma, a quality that just appealed to people instinctively. He had dark eyes and slightly curly dark brown hair that blended nicely with his olive skin. His features were a little rough and rounded to be considered beautiful, but he was infinitely cute and charming. His smile was undoubtedly his best asset. It seemed to light up a room, making you want to join him in whatever secret joke he seemed to be laughing about.

He ran up and pulled her into a hug. "Kara! It's great to see you. Gods, that survival exercise sucked—I couldn't stand to be away." He held her tightly, and she found his presence instantly comforting. He pulled back for a quick kiss. "Come here. There's someone I want you to meet."

He pulled her back through the crowd, steering her towards a quiet corner in the back of the restaurant.

"My brother was able to come down for a bit on his break, so I asked him to join us. I'm so glad—I've been dying for you two to meet." As they approached the secluded table, Kara began to feel a strange uneasiness. She saw a man sitting with his back to them. She halted.

_Oh gods_. Before he even turned around, she knew. Time seemed swirl and slow down, drawing out every last moment to this indisputable, inexorable conclusion. She stayed rooted to the spot, helpless to do anything but watch.

"Lee! Hey Lee! I want you to meet someone."

Socrata Thrace was by no means a great mother, but she had been overwhelmingly successful at two things: (1) instilling the fear of the gods in her daughter; and (2) never failing to make Kara understand that, no matter what the situation, she would invariably screw it up. Based on that upbringing then, it should come as no surprise that the mysterious Lee Adama should be none other than Mr. Distraction—the Sun God himself—standing before her, looking about as bewildered and shocked as one could possibly be.

Who would be foolish enough to think she would have a choice? That she could ever have either of these men? No, by the gods' own luck it seemed she was destined to have nothing. It was beyond screwed up, but it also made a strange kind of sense. _Can't be too happy, after all_. If she lost all that anger and that hunger and that rage, her heart might just stop beating. Good to know she could still make mom proud.

Fate was certainly a bitch, Kara thought bitterly. This would not end well. But what else did she deserve? She held out her hand, her heart sinking as she did so. Miraculously, she found her voice.

"Hey there, Lee. Nice to meet you. I'm Kara."


	4. Chapter 4

**_Author Notes:_**_ Welcome to one Ridiculously Awkward Family Dinner. Fasten your seatbelts, kids. It's going to be a bumpy night. ; )__  
_  
*************************************

**CHAPTER 4**

Lee Adama was completely and utterly screwed.

Coming from a family of divorced parents, he'd had his share of awkward meals. Contentious holiday gatherings, passive-aggressive birthday parties—he was practically a pro at sitting down to dinner with people who hated each other. Or in the case of his father, people he didn't particularly like. But all the awkward-ass family dinners in the worlds could not prepare him for the mind-numbingly horrible feeling of sitting across from his brother… and the woman he'd so desperately wanted to frak only this afternoon.

Kara Thrace. _Starbuck_. Shameless barfighter, world-class aviator, perplexingly desirable hellion, and Zak's Frakking Girlfriend. Wrong didn't cover it. Incestuous was more applicable, but it's not like he'd known her as anything other than Kara Thrace the Raving Lunatic when he'd met her. Frakked beyond belief pretty much summed it up.

If he was capable, he would have laughed long and hard at the equally horrified look on her face when Zak introduced them. But somehow, it didn't feel all that funny. If anything, it felt kind of … sad. Like he'd lost something before he'd even found it. Ridiculous, he thought. He had only known her for what—a day and a half? It's not like they were friends. Hell, he didn't even like her. But there was something about her—something he wanted more of, although he wasn't sure what. Guess he'd never find out now. Fate was a bitch, it seemed.

He absently stared across the table as Zak prattled on. Her face wasn't quite as green as before, but she still looked like she wanted to be anywhere other than where she was at that moment. Luckily, Zak hadn't noticed anything was off; apparently, his joy at having his two favorite people together overshadowed the weird vibes that he and Kara were giving off. For the past ten minutes, Zak was giving him the play-by-play on how he and Kara had originally gotten together. _Awesome_. Because he really wanted to know every detail of their budding romance.

"…So there I was, sitting in front of the most gorgeous and intimidating woman I'd ever seen, who holds my military career in the palm of her hands, who could make or break my flight training, and what do I do? I damn well ask her out of course." Zak chuckled and wrapped his arm around Kara's shoulders, his fingers drawing lazy circles on the smooth skin at the top of her arm. Lee was suddenly hypnotized, remembering the way those arms and shoulders looked earlier today, tracking the movement of her chest rising and falling, rising and falling—

_Pull it together, Adama_, he mentally chided himself_. Focus_. He moved his attention back to the faces in front of him. He studied Zak's easy manner and Kara's embarrassed smile and realized with a shock that he was completely pissed off, and getting angrier by the minute. The more he stared at her—at the two of them together—the more he just wanted to hit something. How the hell could Zak not give him a heads up on who he was dating? How could he have not known this sooner? Surely someone was to blame. Something this frakked up just didn't happen by accident.

Immune to Lee's hostility and Kara's awkwardness, Zak continued. "I can't believe you two never met at the Academy. I think you were only a year or two apart. You must have held all the top records. Strange to think your paths never crossed."

"Yeah … strange." Lee murmured between clenched teeth. Kara just nodded absently and ordered another drink.

Zak chirped along, seemingly oblivious to the lake of tension he was sitting in. "Oh well. At least I was finally able to bring you two together. Honestly, Lee, I've been wanting to tell you for ages now, but I was afraid to say anything until I passed my basic flight exam."

Suddenly Zak's sketchy logic clicked into place. He paused mid drink. "Wait—she was _your_ instructor? And you started this relationship _when_?" Just when he thought he couldn't get any angrier, Zak seemed to be pouring on the tylium.

"Just a couple of months, Lee. Gods, calm down. This is why I never mentioned anything in the first place. Besides, that's all past. Kara's no longer my flight instructor, and I can do this—" Zak leaned in and kissed her long and hard, then broke away grinning, "—anytime I damn well please."

Even Kara had the sense to blush at that, something he was sure she didn't make a habit of doing. Before Lee could explode again, Zak became distracted by some Academy friends who had just walked in. Ever the social butterfly, he quickly excused himself to say hello.

Once he was out of earshot, Kara's eyes finally met his. Instead of shame or embarrassment, however, they were seething. Her uncharacteristic silence had apparently been masking an anger that rivaled his own. _Good_. After an hour of sitting across from this woman in forced politeness, he was practically begging for a fight. She took the liberty of firing the first shot.

"You couldn't have bothered to introduce yourself?" she hissed.

He hammered right back. "It's not like you ever gave me an opening. Besides, how was I supposed to know you were dating my little brother? From the signals you were sending this afternoon, it didn't appear that you were dating anybody."

She winced ever so slightly at his accusation. _Score one for Adama_. But it didn't take her long to recover.

"_Signals?_ Please. You must get out even less than I thought, Apollo. Perhaps if you were able to get your head out of your ass every once in awhile, you'd be able to recognize a textbook adrenaline rush when it hit you."

He flinched at her clinical description of what had passed between them earlier. _Chalk one up for Thrace_, it seemed. That just made him push back harder.

"Well perhaps my training wasn't as thorough as say—my brother's?" His smile was bitter and cruel, and it was her turn to flinch. _Another point for Adama_. He was getting a perverse high from inflicting as much pain as possible. And he kept right on going.

"And what the hell is that about anyway? You know as well as I do that dating between instructors and students is prohibited. You both could've been discharged for something like that."

Her eyes caught fire at that, and he could almost imagine her leaping across the table right then. "You arrogant son of bitch! How dare you? You don't know the first thing about me."

"Oh really?" He feigned surprise. This was just too much fun—he couldn't help himself.

"Let's just see. What have I learned about you in the past 24 hours? Just that you are a deranged lunatic who has no respect for authority, rules or regulations, who wears drunk and disorderly like a calling card, and who has trouble separating the personal from the professional." He waved his drink in a flourish. "Obviously, I don't know the first thing about you, _Starbuck_," he drawled, lingering on her callsign as if it were some vile incantation.

By the look on her face, that one must have scored him at least two points. Although right now, he might not live to see the end of the game. She leaned towards him over the table, so close he could smell the hint of ambrosia on her breath. She was livid and dangerous and … gorgeous. All claws and sinew and bared teeth. As much as he hated her right then, he couldn't help but admire her tenacity, her absolute grit.

"Think whatever you want about me, flyboy, but know this—" her voice softened to a deadly serious tone. "I would never do anything to hurt Zak's career." She slumped back into her chair and looked away, almost speaking more to herself than to him. "Hell, things didn't even get that serious until a couple of weeks ago."

Breaking out of her short reverie, she looked up at him sharply. "And why the frak am I defending any of this to you? You've already made up your mind about me."

Before Lee had a chance to counter, Zak wandered back over to their table, smiling. "You two been making friends?" He sat down beside Kara, his arm going back to its familiar place around her shoulders, fingers drawing the same godsdamn pattern on her arm. For some inexplicable reason, Lee began to hate his brother at that moment. Lost in his dark thoughts, he barely heard Kara's reply.

"Oh _definitely_." Kara answered brightly and turned toward him with a wicked smile. He instantly tensed. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was about to become the sacrificial lamb in whatever passion play her brain had just invented. His eyes questioned hers frantically, but she just smiled sweetly and kept on going.

"Turns out that Lee here was holding out on us. He had a bit of an ulterior motive for coming to visit right now." His eyes narrowed, but she just marched right along. "Apparently, he's on loan from War College to participate in the fly-by I'm organizing for the graduation ceremony. Isn't that a neat coincidence?"

Zak looked at the two of them and positively beamed. "Sounds fantastic. Should be one helluva show. And what better excuse for the three of us to spend time together?" He sighed briefly. "When I'm not studying, that is."

After a few minutes of mindless discussion about Zak's upcoming exams, he saw yet another classmate. Turning to both of them with a grin, he exclaimed "Just two minutes, okay? How about I just meet you out front?" And with that, he dashed off again.

Alone once more, they stared each other down. Starbuck still had that damnable know-it-all grin on her face, but Lee had had enough games for one evening.

"What the hell was that?"

"_That_ was me being professional, flyboy. Because you needed a cover story, and because Zak needed an explanation for all the time we'll be spending together." She paused, almost as if the next words pained her a bit. "And because if we fly together as good as I think we will, we're gonna attract an audience."

She continued briskly. "It's the perfect cover, really. The ceremony's in eight days, which should give us enough time to train for the final assignment. And, oh yeah—you're welcome." She stood up then, downing the last of her drink in one smooth gulp. "And now, I am officially off duty for the evening, _partner_. I'll let Zak know you decided to find your own way home."

And with that, she swept out of the room.

Lee took a few more deep breaths to get control of himself before moving. His fingers still itched to hit something, and if he didn't conquer the urge, the first unsuspecting bastard to get on his bad side would be in for way more than he bargained for.

_How did she do that?_ Three encounters now, and he'd already lost his temper twice. The other time he'd just wanted to—better not think about it. Frak or fight, indeed. No one had ever had that effect on him. He didn't like living so close to his emotions—it was something he always tried to avoid. Mostly because they felt too strong, too overwhelming. Best not to feel anything at all, rather than risk getting caught up in something he couldn't control. And control was his personal god. His belief system, his religion. Control of situations and circumstances, but most of all, control of himself. So why was it that one psychotic blonde kept making him want to lose his godsdamned mind? It was like she had the instruction book for Pressing Lee Adama's Most Frakking Dangerous Buttons. And she was going right down the checklist.

He ordered another drink. _Calm down_. Just a few more deep breaths. All he needed was a little perspective. He could do this, he could complete this mission and not kill his brother's girlfriend in the process. He would stay cool, calm and efficient. That's what he'd always done before, right? He would not make this personal.

_Too late, Adama_, a dark voice within him sneered. _Too frakking late_.

*********

Pour. Lift. Tip. Swallow. One, two, three, repeat.

Some things were just instinctive. Like flying. _And_ drinking. Kara Thrace was good at both.

She loved the familiar burn of the ambrosia as it went down. Never comfortable, but always comforting. Burning things away. Enduring things like _screw-up_, _whore_, _worthless_. Dangerous things like _more_, _perfect_, _longing_. The good and the bad, the safe and the terrifying—if she kept at it long enough, it all got burned away in a green haze. These were the nights when she usually went back out, found a triad game so she could win the table's money, finish off another bottle, and go find some faceless guy to frak her until she couldn't remember anything anymore.

A strong arm wrapped around her waist, and Zak's soft voice lingered in her ear. She remembered. That wasn't who she was anymore. She had someone now—someone who'd changed her. Shining and laughing and bright. He'd pulled her out of the darkness, loved her no matter how many times she'd insulted him or tried to freeze him out. Her glimpse of sunlight and a cool breeze. A fresh start, free from Socrata and the darkness, and the demons who chased her for far too many years to count.

She leaned back into him, soaking up the warmth.

"Go easy on that stuff, alright? You had plenty back at the restaurant."

When she bristled, he paused and tried a different tactic. "Look, I'm sorry if Lee came on a bit strong back there. He's always been overprotective of me. Ever since we were kids. It's kind of annoying really, but I know he means well."

"And I know he'll love you, he just ... takes a while to warm up to people." She felt his smile as he bent down to kiss her neck. "Kind of like someone else I know."

"Yeah, well. It'd help if he'd inherited some of your charm and tact." She mumbled, pouring another drink. Just one more. She liked the symmetry of even numbers better anyway. "How the hell did you two ever end up being related? You don't even look alike."

"Not everyone can be as charming and perfect as me." Zak chuckled and walked over to the fridge. He pulled out a beer, joining her. _Always considerate, that one_. He took a long draught and continued.

"Lee takes after our mother, and I take after dad. Although temperament-wise, Lee and dad could be twins. But don't ever tell him that. They don't exactly get along. Something to do with when we were younger. After our parents split up, Lee felt like dad wasn't around enough. And mom … well, she wasn't always that easy to deal with." A cloud passed over his usually carefree face at those last words, and he hurried along.

"So mostly it was just him and me. He pretty much took care of us for as long as I can remember. For all his faults, he's a pretty great brother. So try and cut him a little slack, okay?" Zak ended his speech with a kiss to Kara's forehead, moving away just in time before she swatted blindly at him from behind.

"I'm going to bed. You coming soon?"

"Sure," she murmured, still lost in her thoughts.

She took another burning sip, lingering over the taste this time. _Still a bastard_, she thought, _but maybe not a complete waste_.

Kara thought back to the many nights spent on her own as a child. Completely alone in the dark, usually lacking heat or food or whatever it was that she particularly needed at the time. On a dozen different planets, yet always the same ratty enlisted officer's apartment. There in the dark—always in the dark—huddled in the corner, dreading her mother's return, because it meant things wouldn't get better, only much worse. She quelled a shudder and took another sip. What she would have given for an overprotective brother back then.

And he certainly had done a good job with Zak. She couldn't fault him for that. Maybe they could just start over tomorrow. They should be able to get along well enough for a week or so. They both had Zak in common, surely that would be enough. And flying, a small voice inside her head whispered. And maybe more than that.

_Okay, enough thinking for one night_. She got up and began stripping off her clothes, heading towards the bedroom. Apparently, drinking wasn't quite enough of a distraction tonight.

Hours later, she laid there tangled in the sheets, sweaty and physically exhausted, with Zak's arm still wrapped about her waist. After a day of almost unbearable tension, her body was finally sated, and her mind was beginning to catch up. Dozing, caught between sleep and waking, her last thoughts flashed like photographs. Blue eyes. A smirk. A smug grin. A pulse fluttering in his neck. Staring at her as if she were wearing nothing at all. Chest rising and falling, panting, amazed by what they had done together. Taking his hand in the restaurant. Hurt. Shock. Anger. A bit of longing? Jealousy. Sadness. Try as she might, those eyes, in all their emotional facets, were the last things she saw as she drifted off to sleep.

***********************


	5. Chapter 5

**_Author Notes:_**_ This evening we have a series of appetizing vingettes, as our dear pilots get to know one another-- a heady mixture of Sweet and Savory. Bon appetit! ; )_

_  
__************************_

**CHAPTER 5**

_**0700**_

_**Flight briefing room, Viper Weapons School**_

_**Eight days until scheduled black ops mission**_

"Am I boring you, Starbuck?"

She was sitting in front of him, stretched out across two chairs, head propped up on one hand. With the sunglasses on, he couldn't tell whether she was awake or asleep. Her lips were still for a change, full and pink, pouting just a bit. Her other hand was just barely grasping a coffee mug, on which was written "_Kiss me, I'm a badass_." At the present moment, it was threatening to tip off her knee. He waited.

It seemed the silence did more than anything to bring her back to life. Slowly pulling her head up from its resting position, she gave him a smug grin.

"Sorry, Apollo. Bit of a late night."

_Late night doing what?_ his brain immediately responded. Instinctively, he pictured her in bed— _Oh. Gods_. _Please, no_. He didn't even want to follow that train of thought, let alone know where it went. Of course, now that the idea was planted in his brain, he felt almost certain that a bullet would be the only way to dislodge it. He groaned inwardly and squinted his eyes in a feeble attempt to focus. Apparently, the little pep talk he'd given himself this morning about self-control and professionalism hadn't helped a whole bunch. He still wanted to throttle this woman. Scarier still, he couldn't even articulate all the reasons why.

_Deep breath, pause a minute, then continue_. If he practiced enough, he might start to get good at this.

"… So it's a pretty simple idea, really. High-altitude atmospheric flight, followed by an extreme drop in altitude—"

"—creates a heat signature change great enough to lose the Dradis signal. Fly virtually undetected. Yeah, I get it." Starbuck yawned and took another gulp of coffee—or whatever the hell it was she had in that ridiculous mug.

"Undetected _if_ you can fly that close to the ground," he corrected. "Of course, all that presumes you have the coordination to reignite your thrusters a second before hitting the hard deck and that your O2 doesn't freeze on the trip up. Until now, it's only ever been a theory. We never had the technology to try it out."

"Gods bless the good 'ole Mark VII's." She raised her mug in a mock toast. "Point three seconds quicker ignition, and now we have a fun after-school project."

"Those point three seconds are the only thing standing between you and a very unpleasant death. Let's hope your legendary instincts live up to their reputation."

She just smiled back, eyes still hidden by those damnable sunglasses.

_Deep breath, close eyes, pause, continue_. "Which brings me to my favorite part: The heat signature disruption can only be made if a second bird mimics the same action, falling a split second later. The birds have to fly closely together in order to confuse the Dradis signal."

Another grin. A trace of amusement in her voice. "Aww, Apollo, are you asking me to dance? How sweet."

_Deep breath, clench fists, pause, continue_. "I'm asking you to shut the frak up and take this seriously, Starbuck. If you can't pay attention, I might just have to start my lecture all over again."

"Oh Gods, there's no need for that." She finally straightened up in her chair. "I know the theory; I understand the technique required. What we need to do is get in the frakking birds and see if this actually works."

Screw the self-control exercises. "Godsdammit Thrace! Not all of us have a death wish." He picked up a stack of flight briefings, determined to do something constructive with his hands before they wrapped themselves around her neck. "So until I'm satisfied that you know this material backwards and forwards, we're gonna stay right here on the ground."

She finally lowered the shades. "You suck as a mission leader, you know."

*****************************

_**0930 **_

_**Test flight #1, Aviation Training Field **_

_**Seven days until scheduled black ops mission**_

She didn't know what made her egg him on so. She just couldn't help it. It was too much damn fun. The way his jaw clenched when he was pissed off at her _(which was pretty much all the time)_, the way his eyes seem to catch fire when she said something especially provocative. His body seemed to live in this perpetual state of tension. Was he like that all the time, or did she have some special effect on him?

So wound up. So restrained. So much godsdamn control that she just wanted to deconstruct him in the most primitive way possible. Break him apart piece by delicious piece.

But then she jumped in her bird and he jumped in his, and nothing else in the world seemed to matter anymore. Just birds and flight and air and sky. And him.

She pulled the incline and climbed even higher, getting ready to fall once more to the ground. The rising and falling exercises were preliminary, just warm-up stretches before the real thing. They wouldn't get around to the difficult stuff until later. Over the next few days, they just had to make sure they stayed alive in the practice rounds.

She caught a glimpse of his bird out of the corner of her eye, the height and trajectory keeping time perfectly with hers. She closed her eyes and sighed.

Godsdammit, but life was good right now.

****************

_**1930**_

_**Viper Weapons School, Visiting Instructor's Office**_

_**Five days until scheduled black ops mission**_

Lee tried in vain to concentrate on the reports in front of him. He needed to understand why their flights hadn't had any effect on the Dradis signal so far, but something else was disrupting his concentration. He was in the middle of a different kind of study altogether. He'd been observing her for days now, trying to figure her out. Crack the code that was Starbuck … _and Kara_. He'd told himself this was all for Zak's benefit, that he should get a better idea of just who his brother was dating. So far his progress was slow, but he felt he was making a bit of headway, at least when he just had the chance to do what he did best—sit back and observe.

There was a certain kind of energy that surrounded her. He wasn't sure if it was positive or negative, but that wasn't really the point. It was a vitality, a life force that just permeated out of her, that enveloped her. She made everything feel more real, more animated. Emotions felt heightened around her, more intense. The anger, the swagger. Even the laughter—_especially_ her laughter. It felt like a wave that could swallow him whole. Hell, even the colors around her felt different—highly pigmented and oversaturated. Pulling out the colors in everything … and everyone.

When had his life begun to feel so vivid?

He felt it in the air, certainly, but he also felt it on the ground. It stood out in the obvious ways—the way she played a hand of triad, the way she smoked a cigar, the way she out-boasted the burliest looking Marines at the bar, the way she bullshitted her way out of trouble—and also in the softer, quieter ways—as if you could describe anything to do with Starbuck being quiet or soft.

But he was pretty sure the description could apply to Kara sometimes. The way she helped fellow instructors with end of term projects or the few leftover students who were still prepping for exams, trying not to seem as interested or as willing as she actually was. The way she tried to hide how hard she worked, pouring over papers and briefings, manuals and sim updates when she thought no one was looking. The way she was with Zak … more caring, more connected to emotions not strictly having to do with sarcasm or anger. There was a softness there—Lee was sure of it—but it was all so carefully hidden.

They were getting better at controlling the 'textbook adrenaline rush,' as she'd put it. Fact of the matter was, there was nothing textbook about it. Like their flying, like everything they did together, it was incomprehensible, intense, and more than a little euphoric. Climbing out of their birds after that first test flight, he had to control the urge to run across the tarmac and pick her up. The thought was insane, but so was she. What would he have done? Carry her off to some abandoned supply closet? Swing her around like they were kids? Just hang on until someone had to physically pry her out of his arms? He had no idea, and he didn't intend to find out. He was very careful not to touch her unless it was absolutely necessary. It helped that Zak came over every afternoon, waiting like the dutiful boyfriend to pick his girl up after school. Seeing him there usually doused whatever impulse (childish or otherwise) he had. He could control it, he thought. Surely he could adapt and reorganize his emotions.

It was just another thing to learn, after all. He was good at that.

******************

_**2215 **_

_**Guest officer's accommodations, Colonial Fleet Academy**_

_**Four days until scheduled black ops mission**_

This had become their nightly ritual. Dinner, triad, beer, more triad, more beer and general ridiculousness. They usually ended up at Lee's temporary apartment because he had the most space.

Kara sat in the corner, just observing them. She had tapped out a few rounds ago, claiming a need to reorganize the flight roster for the graduation fly-by but really, she just wanted to watch them for awhile. Zak was determined to win the rest of his money back, and Lee was fighting just as fiercely to make sure that didn't happen. They leaned over the table, joking and jabbing and just being brothers. It was still remarkable to think that they were related. Aside from the obvious physical distinctions, they were so unbelievably different.

Zak was all sunshine and easiness, a warm smile and a hearty laugh. He just pulled you in; the result of years of feeling perfectly comfortable with living in his own skin. He had a carefree aura about him, a way of calming things down simply by being present. Kara had always envied him that peace, that self-assurance.

His brother was a different matter entirely.

He was beautiful, but not easy to look at. Gorgeous, but difficult to discern. Almost like his presence was too intense to be around. Probably why he kept to himself so much. It wasn't that he didn't want friends; he just generated this isolating ambiance. _Unattainable. Untouchable_. _Self-Contained_. Must be terribly lonely, she thought.

He also looked too … _old_. It came from the way he carried himself, the cautious way he approached the world. Lots of responsibility there, probably before he even understood what the word meant. She could see it written all over his face, duty and obligation masking everything else. There was so much of him that was hidden away. All buttoned and starched and zipped up so tight. He probably didn't know where Apollo stopped and Lee began—he'd probably begun to confuse them long ago. She could definitely understand that, recognizing the same kind of mask she'd cultivated so carefully herself.

_Fascinating_. It's as if these two brothers were polar opposites, yet bound so tightly together. A bond forged by gods knew what. From what Zak had told her of their childhood, it sounded nice on the surface. She was pretty sure their family had money, and pretty good social standing too. It wasn't that Zak ever said anything—in fact, it was quite the opposite—his lack of concern with material stuff, the assumption that it would all be taken care of, was what gave it away. Nobody who ever went without could forget that feeling, and anyone who hadn't just wouldn't be able to imagine it. No, she thought, the bond was about something else entirely.

The other stuff, the family stuff—she guessed it probably wasn't good. Something had broken long ago that they had had to fix by themselves. She saw the signs; she recognized them easily. You'd never know it to look at Zak, but one look at Lee and she could tell that he had fallen on the grenade long ago, just so his brother could have that carefree look.

At that moment, Zak's laughter rang out through the room, his smile blinding and exuberant as he pulled a large pile of winnings back across the table. Lee glowered and tried to looked pissed off, but it wasn't working. His eyes softened—the characteristic icy gaze was gone, replaced by something tender. A smile, an honest-to-gods genuine smile began to form at the corners of his mouth. His eyes crinkled a bit, and he looked much younger all at once. A glimpse of the boy who sacrificed himself so long ago.

Suddenly her brain had the strangest thought: _She wanted one of those smiles_. She wanted one for herself—to create it, be responsible for its existence. He didn't give them away often, she was sure. It would be spectacular—hell, it would probably transform his entire face. The thought felt like a challenge, an unspoken dare to lift some of the burden he carried so faithfully.

His eyes shifted to hers then, almost as if she'd spoken her thoughts aloud. They looked questioning for a moment, apprehensive, like he was afraid he'd been caught without his armor on. She held his gaze for an endless second longer then looked away, pretending to be listening to something Zak was telling her.

Yeah, she definitely wanted to see one of those smiles.

*************

_**1330 **_

_**Training Mission #6, Aviation Training Field **_

_**Three days until scheduled black ops mission**_

She drove him crazy, she made him crazy—hell, she _was_ crazy. But when they flew together, Lee thought he could forgive her for anything.

The endless jabs, the constant teasing, the continual drain on his sanity. The way she just had to chew on every pen in existence. The way she managed to somehow scribble on every mission briefing. Biting her lower lip while she was waiting for a chance to say some smart-ass remark.

Being the one who showed up on Zak's arm at the restaurant that night. Plaguing his thoughts far more often than he'd like to admit.

But soaring through the sky together, falling through the air—even trying desperately not to black out before he hit the ground—it was still so unbelievably perfect. Like that first day in the sims. He would never get tired of this.

Maybe it was just the lack of oxygen, or the rush of adrenaline as he practiced cutting on the thrusters a second before hitting the hard deck, but whatever the cause, his thoughts seemed to be soaked with Kara these days. Training, eating, fighting, playing cards, trading insults—her presence had begun to feel normal. _Natural_.

It was a peculiar feeling. Like he was living life in an entirely different frequency these days. He'd been walking around with this for a whole week now. He couldn't explain it, he just felt more … alive. More _everything_. Plugged into some power source he'd scarcely imagined existed but now couldn't imagine being without. It was intoxicating.

_It was dangerous_, he corrected, his brain forcing out one more assessment before he began the giddy high-altitude climb. _Too much longer and this need to feel would become an addiction_.

But gods help him, he liked it.

*********************************

_**0245**_

_**Instructor K. Thrace's office, Viper Weapons School**_

_**Two days until scheduled black ops mission**_

"The altitude's still not high enough. And we're not dropping fast enough to make a difference on Dradis. The signal's muddled, but it's not gone. Next time we should—Ow! Kara? What the frak?"

Maybe it was lack of sleep, or the oxygen deprivation from the test flight earlier today, or maybe it was because of the three beers she'd had at dinner with Zak before he went back into hermit-mode to study for his last exam, but she was feeling damn giddy. Lee sat across from her, prattling on and on about how things weren't going well, and she decided he needed to lighten up. Suddenly, all of the rubber bands lying on her desk seemed destined to be launched like missiles at a certain mission partner.

She let another one fly.

"Dammit, Starbuck! Stop that."

"Or what? You'll bore me to death? Too late, Apollo. This is my last hope of staying conscious."

She launched missile number three. This one smacked him right in the forehead.

"Shit! Ow!"

He launched himself across the desk then, trying to steal her ammunition. They wrestled and struggled for control of the remaining rubber bands, all while Kara giggled and Lee let fly a string of expletives that would have made a Tauron sailor blush. Finally, his hands got a firm grip on her wrists, securing them. They both froze. Both sets of eyes suddenly looked up, laughter and mirth meeting pissed-off and flustered. It was the first time he'd touched her since he took her hand that night at the restaurant. His fingers flexed involuntarily, sending an electric current running up her arms. She bit her lower lip while his parted with a sharp indrawn breath. Her hands stilled.

"Enough," he choked out, his voice rough and deeper than usual.

Her heart fluttered ridiculously at his tone. She answered back in a breathless pitch. "It's no use, Apollo." Looking down at their hands, she gave him a lazy, sexy smile. "If you take away the rubber bands, I'll just pull out my stash of paper clips."

He looked down at where their hands were joined and back up again, staring so intently. And then the most marvelous thing happened. He began to laugh. Starting slow, no sound at first, then bubbling up out of that beautiful mouth. It had a lovely musical pitch, tenor mixed with a bit of baritone.

And his face—he was grinning from ear to ear, as if he'd caught a disease consisting entirely of giddiness with no hope of a cure. The smile was beautiful, and indeed, it completely transformed him. He looked years younger, almost his actual age for once. The burden was lifted, and he was simply … _Lee_. Not Mr. Distraction, not The Sun God, not Lieutenant Tight-Ass or any of the other hundred nicknames she'd given him over the past week. Finally, she was able to just see him. It was amazing. And almost too beautiful to look at.

The laughter, the look of pure delight on his face gave her no choice but to join in. She'd done that. She'd created that face. The lightheadedness of the oxygen deprivation was nothing compared to this. She laughed until her sides hurt, until she couldn't breathe anymore. He was in no better shape, both of them finally collapsing face first on the desk, hands still joined.

****************


	6. Chapter 6

**Borrowed Time** K/L pre-mini fic (chapter 6/12)  
**Rating:** still M  
**Word Count:** ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­5,288 (_yep, it's a super-sized chapter!_)  
**Spoilers: **Through the mini-series. Very mild spoilers for 4.5  
**Disclaimer: **It all belongs to RDM & Co.

_**  
**__**Summary:**__ A quiet morning visit gives our pilots the chance to make some surprising discoveries about each other._

***************************

**Author's Note: ****  
**Although I developed this story early in Season 4.5, I've tried to keep it as consistent with known canon as possible. Well, this week, that goes out the window—so I invite you to join me in the world of My Own Personal Canon (MOPC). Specifically, in MOPC, Kara has two apartments—her official apt near the Academy, and her super-secret apartment no one else knows about (modeled on her apartment as it was in _Valley of Darkness_). I'm handwaving the apartment in _Daybreak_ cause it just doesn't work for this story. Sorry kids, I tried.

Regardless of the geographical retcon issues, I think, even in light of the last few eps, the story remains 90% plausible. My goals are what they have always been—that the characters ring true and that the emotions hit hard.

…And that it's a damn good read. Enjoy! ; )

*************************

**CHAPTER 6**

_Two cups of coffee. That'd be a good peace offering, right?_

He'd grabbed the beverages from a corner market on his way to the apartment. No breakfast though. Coffee was fine; breakfast just felt a bit … presumptuous.

There was no reason to feel so weird, he told himself. Yes, they'd agreed to take today off and rest, but hell—this was about the mission. They needed to work on a couple more details before tomorrow. They still hadn't been able to wipe out the Dradis signal. They'd gotten close, muddled it, but so far had not been able to lose it. It was probably a matter of altitude. They just needed to push it a little farther.

_All business. That's what this was about_, he kept repeating. What this was _not_ about was the feel of touching her last night. Of making an absolute fool of himself giggling like a schoolboy at her stupid joke. It had nothing to do with the overwhelming experience of finally feeling her skin under his fingertips; nothing to do with the fact that the baser parts of his brain couldn't help but try and think of ways to touch her again. And it certainly had nothing to with the fact that he'd gotten used to seeing her everyday—that going without gave him a strange feeling of withdrawal, an ache he couldn't quite place.

No, it had nothing to do with that.

The change in scenery quickly silenced his internal dialogue. _Gods, but this place was a dump. Why the hell would she have a place here?_ he wondered. Then the thought suddenly occurred to him: Because this is the last place anyone would look for her. This place was all about seclusion, all about having somewhere to hide. He could appreciate that.

He braced himself for a somewhat less-than-warm reception.

He entered the crumbling concrete building from the north side, wandering down a long hallway until he saw the number. He knocked gently. No answer. He tried it again. Nothing. Getting exasperated, he tried the door handle. It opened easily, swinging wide.

He was met with a view he never expected to see.

His eyes took in fragments, just trying to put the pieces together. Colors. Bare legs. Movement. Blonde hair. A collage of shape and texture and vivid pigments. Paint everywhere. Covering walls and floors and canvas and furniture … and her.

It took a few seconds to arrange the images into coherent thoughts. The door led to a landing that immediately descended via stairway into the main living area. There was a huge, two-story wall at the bottom of the stairs. It was unbelievable. Words and symbols and a rainbow of colors covered it. As if a hundred poems and paintings had been layered on top of each other. It was chaotic … and stunning. And he would have been mesmerized if it wasn't for the figure standing in front of that wall.

She moved as gracefully as a dancer, arms and legs working in perfect concert, smearing blue paint all over a canvas about twice as tall as she was. The sleeves of her oversize button-down were rolled up, and she was up to her elbows in about four different shades paint. Her legs were bare and they seemed to go on forever. Even from this distance, he could see flecks of red and green and yellow moving up her calves and onto her thighs and even higher, hidden under places where the shirt gave her a minimum of cover. His throat went dry.

At that moment, she turned and saw him. Her face was terrifying—horrified, shocked, and mad as hell.

**_"Godsdammit, Apollo!! What the frak are you doing here?"_**

*******************************************

_Frak this_. A brush wasn't going to work this morning. Too delicate, too timid. She'd just have to use her hands. She felt the paint slide effortlessly between her fingers and under her palms. She closed her eyes and sighed. _Ahh, much better_. If only she could calm her mind as easily as she could calm the muse.

More paint. More texture. Cover up and hide and change and reshape into something better, something more acceptable. More permissible. Something that didn't stare back at her with the clearest, deepest blue eyes she'd ever seen. Gods, but she was losing it. She was taking a silly, goofy, sleep-deprived moment and making way more of it than necessary. Taking a laugh and turning it into music. Taking a smile and turning into something like magic. It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous.

They'd just been spending too much time together. That was all.

_And my gods, but what the hell was up with Zak?_ She didn't know what to do with him anymore. She liked him as much as she'd always had, but he just couldn't stop pushing. This morning he'd dropped by her Academy apartment on the way to his last exam, going on and on about a planetside posting after graduation and asking what she thought of the idea of moving in together. For the second time in two weeks, the blood drained from her face, and she sent him on his way as soon as humanly possible. She wasn't ready for any of this. They hadn't even had sex in almost a week. Not since the restaurant. Since then, it just hadn't felt right. All her thoughts of him somehow invariably led back to his brother. And it was creeping her out.

On top of everything else, Zak was starting to bug her about how much time she was spending with Lee these days.

_  
__"Just how much time does it take to organize a fly-by, Kara?" His normally carefree eyes had a hint of something else. Wariness? Jealousy? Suspicion? "Is this about not wanting to spend time with me? What's going on?"_

_"Nothing. Gods, Zak. We're just trying some different stunts this year, that's all." She looked at him again, more than ready to end this conversation. "Really, it's nothing."_

_Nothing_, she chanted again. _Nothing. Nothing. Nothing_. It was just this damn mission. She was stressed, and the only person she could talk to about it had the lovely habit of causing even more stress. It felt like she was sinking into something too deep; something she couldn't control, couldn't manage.

_This will not end well_. The voice sounded just like her mother's—and the words seemed to ring inside her head.

More paint, she decided. Blue seemed appropriate. Exorcise those demons, get those visions of him out of her head and onto the canvas. She'd just have to paint them out. She mixed the color until she got it right. A shade under turquoise, but two shades darker than aquamarine. Less green, more navy. There it was. She began spreading it all over the canvas, arms and hands working at a feverish pace.

Suddenly, she stopped, aware of a presence at the top of the stairs. She turned.

_No. Frakking. Way._

There he stood, looking beautiful and just as stunned as she was, holding two cups of coffee, as if _he_ were the dutiful boyfriend bringing her breakfast. The anger returned tenfold. _How dare he? How the frak did he find her?_

**_"Godsdammit, Apollo!! What the frak are you doing here?"_**

He stuttered, moving down the stairs as if in a trance. At the bottom, he halted, afraid to come any closer.

_No wonder_, Kara thought. She was covered in paint and looked about as wild as a banshee. He was probably traumatized.

… _Or not_. His concentration was momentarily focused on her shirt—no doubt noticing that she'd neglected to wear a bra today. Taking a towel to wipe off her arms, she quickly crossed them and glared for all she was worth.

"Well?" she continued. "What the hell is this about? You'd better have a damn good reason for being here."

Still stunned, he was a bit slow to speak. She couldn't help but chuckle a bit inwardly. Speechless was definitely a new look for him.

His mouth opened then closed then opened again. "Uh … I needed to discuss some stuff with you." He cleared his throat. Eyes traveling back up to her face. "About the mission. There are a couple of things we need to review—"

She quickly cut him off. "—No way, Apollo, not so fast. How did you find this place? No one knows about this apartment. Not even Zak."

He set the coffee down and pulled a plain manila file from under his arm. "I have your intel file, remember? It's amazing what military intelligence seems to know." He looked around again at all the brushes and canvases, taking another long look at her, too. No doubt noticing all the paint she was wearing, not to mention the fact that her shirt wasn't doing such a great job of covering her. _Whatever_. He deserved to feel uncomfortable for barging in on her like this. His perusal continued. "…they never mentioned anything about painting, though."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, it's nice to know I can slip a few things past those military spooks." She felt simultaneously frozen with rage and coiled like a caged animal ready to spring. His relatively calm demeanor was not helping. She began to pace back and forth, furious. She couldn't believe he'd seen her like this, seen her paintings, the apartment, everything. She felt raw and exposed—and extremely irritable. Something had to be done.

It took a few long minutes before she could organize her thoughts. She gave him a searing look and spoke in a low voice. " There's only one way to settle this, you know."

"We have something to settle?" There was confusion in his voice and that amazing eyebrow of his threatened to merge with his hairline.

"Damn straight, Apollo. You've invaded my privacy—the one place I can get away from work, people, from everything. Now you know about it—you've seen all this," she waved to the canvases and the wall behind her, "and I just can't let that stand." She paused for a moment, considering her options. "I'm gonna need compensation."

"Compen—I'm sorry, _what?_"

"You heard me. Quid pro frakking quo. You've got to tell me something about you that no one else knows."

His face was incredulous; he was wearing that utterly adorable bewildered expression again. "You're kidding, right?"

"Does it look like I'm frakking kidding? I need dirt, Apollo, or this will get messy."

He tilted his head and smirked. "Or what, you're going to _paint_ me?"

She looked over at her mixing table, imagining what colors would look good on those freshly-pressed fatigues. "Hmmm ... that's not a bad idea." She threw him another scary look. "So how about it? You gonna talk?"

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. "This is ridiculous, Thrace. We can talk later." He turned back towards the stairs.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." He stilled. The scary calmness of her voice must have stopped him.

He looked warily over his shoulder, "And why is that?"

She met him with an evil grin. "You are conveniently forgetting that this is in fact my place, Apollo. And I know where all the hidden weapons are." Her eyes shifted briefly to the top of the stairs before resting again on his face. "You'd never make it to the door." Her voice was deceptively sweet.

His eyes widened. "You're insane!"

She just stared back, arms folded, saying nothing.

After a moment's pause, and an even longer deep breath, he turned around and laid the file beside the coffee he'd brought. His eyes wandered nervously around the room, face turning the slightest bit pink in the process as he racked his brain. He raked a hand through his hair. "Okay. I—uh, well, I guess I'm a bit of a geek. I kind of lived in the library at the Academy." His eyes crinkled a bit as he looked back at her, and he gave her an adorable lopsided grin. "Afraid I never found as much time to fit socializing into my schedule as you did."

Cute, but weak. "Not good enough, Apollo. I figured you were a complete dork from our very first meeting. Rules and regs kind of guy. _I need to speak with your supervisor?_ Please." She rolled her eyes. "Try again."

His face flushed a bit more. "I worked as a math tutor during high school?"

"Again. Dork. I get it. Moving on."

His cheeks were now a faint magenta. Another deep breath. Hand raking through the hair again. "I kinda memorized the regs book as a first year cadet? I have this thing for remembering rules.…"

She smiled a bit. "Again, funny, but nothing I couldn't have figured out within five minutes of meeting you. You can do better than that. Everything you've told me has to do with military stuff, academic stuff. I need something more. Something completely out-of-character."

Time to try a different tactic. She took a few steps closer, almost close enough for her paint-covered arms to brush against his chest. She heard a sharp inhalation and raised her head, her face only inches from his. She sighed and dropped her voice to just above a hoarse whisper. _Her bedroom voice_, Zak called it. Usually got her what she wanted, no matter the location.

"_Come on, Apollo_," she purred. "_Tell me all your deep, dark secrets_."

The look on his face was priceless. It was like he'd been struck by lightning; his body went completely still. He looked … stunned, almost as if he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. She didn't break eye contact until he did, heady from the rush of control she felt in being near him like this.

A couple of interminable heartbeats passed, then his eyes began to roam around the room, like he was trying desperately not to think about whatever it was he'd just been thinking about.

He finally took one of his patented deep breaths, like he was trying to find the willpower to resist strangling her. "Look Starbuck, I don't know what you want from me. What you see is what you get. There really is nothing else to tell…."

His voice faded as his eyes fell on something in the corner. _Her dad's old piano_. She'd moved it out of Socrata's place after mommie dearest had threatened to torch it during a particularly lovely mother-daughter moment. She didn't exactly like the thing, but she hated the idea of it being destroyed—and with it, one of the last tangible links to her dad. It made her heart ache a little to think about it, but she quickly shoved those thoughts aside.

He appeared bewildered. "You play?"

She looked at him, then at the piano, then back to him. Working it out, eyes narrowing. "More importantly, Apollo … do _you_?"

He shrugged. "A little."

"What do you mean by 'a little'?"

"My mom made me take lessons when I was younger." Another shrug. "A lot of lessons."

"All right then. So you gonna play me something?"

He glared. "Surely that's not necessary."

"Aww, what's wrong, Apollo? Afraid I won't like your version of Chopsticks?"

"_Chopsticks?_"

"Chopsticks, Mary Had a Little Lamb, whatever. I'm sure your version's lovely."

He just glowered. Yep, she was definitely pushing the right buttons.

"What, you think you can do something better?"

He just shot her an incredibly arrogant—_and sexy_, her brain interjected—look and began to walk towards the piano. "Looks like I have no choice but to defend my honor," he snarked.

"Thata boy." She smiled and answered with a trademark wink.

Approaching the instrument, he pulled out the bench and carefully, and began to clean off the clutter that had collected there for gods knew how many years. Once he'd done that, he shrugged out of his fatigue jacket and sat down. He had a strange look on his face—_like a condemned man walking to the gallows_, Kara couldn't help but think. He slowly pulled back the keyboard cover and stared down for a long moment.

_What in the worlds was he staring at?_ It's not like he was really good or anything. I mean come on, she thought, how could he be? You didn't look like _that_ and turn out to be some geeky musician. She was slightly disappointed at her failure to get some epic dirt on him, but at least it'd be funny, she thought, even if it wasn't exactly what she was looking for. But still, some quality Apollo embarrassment time was always a good thing.

Her thoughts quieted down when she heard the first notes. A strong, single-toned arc made its way up the keyboard. He paused for a moment, lingering over the last traces of the opening, fingers transitioning into softer notes. Then he began playing a solemn melody. Clear, direct. It sounded like a moderate-level piece, from an older composer—she couldn't quite place which one. _Ok, so maybe not Chopsticks_. Well-executed, nice phrasing, if a bit provincial.

As he continued playing the serious melody, she couldn't help but think of how well it suited him. Straightforward, by the book … and slightly sad. A bit of a stillness and deepness, but boy scout through and through. Even his back was rigid, composed, and his arms were tightly controlled. He continued like that for several minutes, and she was lulled into enjoying the simple piece. Then, unexpectedly, his fingers broke into a beautiful, playful run across the keys—a flash of romanticism—before delving into even more melancholy territory.

She was completely unprepared for what happened next. Slowly, building on each chord, he began to gather momentum, first walking, then marching, then sprinting across the keys. The music exploded into a rage—anger and recklessness and despair crying out—the echoes bouncing off the concrete walls of the apartment. _Un-frakking-believable_. It was as if all the emotions he kept hidden away suddenly came pouring out of his fingers. Who knew he had that inside him? At the same time, she couldn't help but feel that the music was meant for her—as if it spoke to the chaos within her soul at the same time she was discovering the upheaval within his.

Just when the entire piece was about to become unglued with rage, it stopped short. Lingering for a few notes more, he changed entirely. Even his shoulders relaxed, became gentle, more pliant. Slowly, softly, a beautiful love theme began to emerge. Discovering itself, finding its way out, winding over and around the keys. It told a story, though she wasn't sure quite what—almost like it hadn't been written yet. She closed her eyes. It felt ethereal, like it was caught between this world and the next. Surely there couldn't be anything that was really that perfect. It reminded her of flying, soaring through the sky. Complete and utter peace. Control and passion—discipline and impulsiveness—walking together, side-by-side. It felt sublime. It felt like … _home_.

She opened her eyes and looked at him again.

Not many things could shock the implacable Starbuck or the legendary Kara Thrace. Hell, she'd probably seen it all anyway. So to say that she was stunned was an understatement. Completely blown away was more like it. Where in gods name had that come from? _How could he possibly understand that kind of emotion? How could he know what it felt like to burn that way?_ It was as if he'd taken an x-ray of her soul. She felt completely stripped bare, more exposed than when she'd been standing before him wearing nothing but her bra and flight suit.

Who would have ever thought that The Sun God, Mr. Distraction—Lee Frakking Adama—had _that_ locked inside him? Sitting there at her father's piano, the first person to touch it since he left so many years ago, he'd damn near broken her heart with what he just did. Broken it, then pieced it back together, all in one sitting. She was having trouble catching her breath, terrified that the emotions inside her were plastered all over her face.

She was moved, exhilarated—and completely freaked out.

****************

Lee's fingers stilled on the keyboard, paralyzed by the sudden realization that he was not alone in the room. The music had lulled him into a trance; he'd forgotten that Kara Frakking Thrace was standing no more than a few feet behind him.

_Oh. Holy. Frak_. He could not believe he'd just done that. Where had that come from? He hadn't played in years. He hated it, or so he thought. Just one more thing he'd tried to do for his mother, one more thing to make her happy. But nothing could do that. He'd learned that bitter lesson a long time ago, and he'd done his best to shelter Zak from the same harsh reality he'd understood only too soon.

What had he been thinking? Why the hell had he chosen that particular song? He'd never even really liked it. Too emotional and too over the top. Too much fire and poetry, and he wasn't a big fan of either. So why did it feel like it had started to make sense? He couldn't understand why, after so many years, but this time, the emotions of the piece had begun to come alive for him.

Turning slowly around, he braced himself for her ridicule. No big deal. Nothing he hadn't heard a thousand times growing up. The curse of having a mother who loved music more than she actually loved you. What he saw took him by surprise.

She was transfixed—half anguish, half bliss. And a whole bunch shocked, moreso than she'd been that first day in the sims. Hell, she looked exposed. And a slight bit terrified. He began to feel better about his own vulnerability and instinctively sought to lighten the mood.

"So … yeah. My mom made me take a few lessons," he said with a bashful smile.

Her eyes pulled back into focus and she found her voice.

"A few?"

"Yeah. About fifteen years worth." He grinned, ridiculing himself this time. "She thought I should become a musician."

Her face looked even more strained, if that was possible. "A … musician?" she echoed.

"Yeah, well, she studied a long time ago, but she and my dad got married young, and so she never had a chance to do anything with it. Then I came along, and she thought I'd make a pretty good substitute." He gave a hollow laugh. "Pretty dumb, huh?"

"Yeah … dumb." She continued hesitantly. "Did you ever study anywhere, like in school?"

"She wanted me too. Got a few scholarships for college, stuff like that. But by then I wasn't interested."

Her face was white, and the words barely choked out: "… _did you compose as well?_"

He knit his brows together, confused by the intensity of the question. "Gods, no. I'm rubbish at writing stuff." He chuckled to himself. "My only talent lies in playing what other people have written. Old stuff mostly. My mom felt like classical training was the only respectable method for a good pianist."

"But you stopped?"

"Yeah. After high school, I decided I was done with all that. So, I thought _'What the hell?'_ Why not follow in the old man's footsteps and join the Fleet?" A hard line passed over his face as he thought of dear old dad. "He was only too happy to help. Got me into the Academy, no problem, no questions asked. War hero's son and all. It's not like I needed it, but he just had to help out."

His voice sounded cold and bitter. "And I've been trying to prove I deserved it ever since."

The room became quiet then, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

"So ..." he said, trying to find a more comfortable topic. "It's time you showed me some of these paintings."

Her eyes snapped back to his. "What?"

"Oh come on, Thrace. You've seen my talent at work. Now it's your turn to reciprocate." He stood up and moved towards her, smiling wickedly. Beguilingly. He could have sworn she almost wanted to take a step back. He grinned even wider at his effect on her. Tilting his head sideways, he lowered his voice somewhere between a whisper and growl.

"_Come on, Starbuck. Give me a tour of the art gallery. Please?_"

She looked frozen for an endless moment, her eyes wide and luminous. Then, almost as if he could see inside her head, she mentally shook herself out of it before rolling her eyes and shaking her head. "You're not nearly as charming as you think, you know." She walked over to the front wall that served as her makeshift easel.

He followed her to a pile of canvases stacked against the wall. She began to flip through them slowly, carefully. Looking down, he found himself amazed by the use of color, the expression, the depth. His mom had been a big collector, and although he was never really interested, he couldn't help but pick up a thing or two from all the childhood trips to galleries and museums.

"Wow," he said, genuinely surprised. "These are really good."

"Don't sound so shocked." She gave him an icy sideways glance. "You're not the only one with a secret talent or two."

He moved his eyes away from her face and back to the paintings, mesmerized. He couldn't help but ask. "So what inspired these? Did you ever study?"

She shrugged. "Nah, it's just me. Didn't really have the time or money for lessons growing up. I just found things I liked. Sometimes other artists' work, sometimes nature, sometimes I just … tried to paint a feeling." She laughed to herself, suddenly looking very childlike. Lee was enthralled. "Sounds stupid, I know, but I just wanted to see if I could capture what it would look like."

As she kept flipping through the paintings, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was looking at a photo album of her inner life. And it was amazing. Just as brilliant and vivid and full of life as he'd imagined. What he didn't expect was how gentle, how emotional they felt. His eyes couldn't help but go back to her face, watching her expressions as she looked through these pieces of herself. It was wonderful—like he'd been given an incredible gift. He was sure this was an honor she'd never shared with anyone else before.

At last, she reached the back of the pile. It was a slightly larger canvas, covered with blues and greens and yellows, melting into a sunset—or the dawn—he couldn't be sure which. At the base of all that tumultuous color was a dark green horizon, holding everything together, anchoring it down. It was like the visualization of freedom. Of peace and stillness. She moved to put the paintings back in place, but his hand reached out of its own volition and stopped hers, lingering on her wrist for just a moment.

"No, wait. May I?"

He gently moved the other canvases until that one was the only one left leaning against the wall.

"What's this one?"

She spoke softly. Carefully. "I never gave it a name. It's one of my first. Painted it while I was still at the Academy." She hesitated, her voice even softer. "After the first time a flew a viper."

"It's beautiful." The words just tumbled out of his mouth, heartfelt and sincere.

She smiled faintly. "Thanks. It's my favorite. I don't quite know why. I mean, I've gotten a lot better since then, but there's something about it. It feels like comfort, like connection, like …." she faltered for the right word.

"…. Like _home_," he finished.

She suddenly looked at him, staring so deeply he felt almost naked. Two sets of eyes locked and held, a world of meaning passing between them. She couldn't help but ask: _You understand this? You know what it feels like? To want that?_

_Yeah, I know_, his eyes responded.

A smile began at her eyes, moving down her face until her lips joined in. It illuminated her. At that moment, she seemed bathed in light. She regarded him for a moment more, radiant and wise well beyond her years.

_I guess you do, then_. There was such peace in her face at that moment, it was almost too intimate to behold.

"Yeah," she said, turning back to stare at the painting. "Like home."

-----------------------

It seemed like hours later before either of them spoke. She was the first to break their comfortable silence.

"You want some coffee?"

She glanced at the table near the stairs. "While I appreciate the gesture, I think the ones you brought have gone cold." She moved back toward the apartment's tiny kitchen, throwing him a grin over her shoulder. "I'll make some more. Besides, pre-flight briefings always taste better with caffeine."

"Yeah," he smiled back. "That'd be nice."

They drank coffee and sat at her tiny kitchen table, pouring over the reports. One by one, they carefully went over the details of the flight plan, checking and double checking everything. As they began to wrap up, Lee was suddenly overcome with a concern for her, for them, for Zak. He paused.

"Look, there's no question this is dangerous. We've had some close calls already, and we haven't even pushed as far as we will tomorrow." He paused again. His voice felt thick, strangely heavy with emotion. "You sure you don't want to say anything to Zak?"

She smiled back, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Now that wouldn't be very covert of me, would it? Besides," she continued softly, "If he knows about me, he should know about you, too."

"Nah," he shrugged. "Don't want to worry him."

She tilted her head and gave him a long, measuring look. "It's always been like that with you two, hasn't it? You've always protected him."

He brushed off the comment. "It's not like our parents were around to do it. He needed someone, so I became that person. It's what anyone would have done."

She paused. "No, it's not, Lee. Not anyone."

His breath caught sharply as he looked at her, searching for some hint of sarcasm, some bit of insincerity. He found none. Instead, her eyes were unguarded, absolutely sincere. He felt a bit dizzy. _Had she ever called him by his name before?_ The air felt heavy, pressing down on him, and he was having trouble concentrating on anything but the way her face looked at that moment—beautiful and sad all at the same time.

She seemed to sense what he was feeling and reached out her hand to touch his. Just a gentle clasp, her palm resting on the back of his hand. He felt the warmth soak into his fingers and cascade up his arm.

She looked into his eyes. "We'll just make sure that we bring each other back."

He looked down at where their hands connected and carefully placed his other hand on top of hers. Joining them together. His gaze traveled back up to her eyes.

"You're right," he said. "We can do this."

And for the first time, with her hand in his, he actually believed it. He couldn't explain why—there was absolutely no logic behind it, just the bone-deep certainty of it. The recognition that this was something he'd always known.

_They could do this. They could do anything_.

*********************

**_A Very Special Playlist:_**

There's really one song I have to share with you this chapter. It was actually my "inspiration piece" for this entire story—and one of my very favorite pieces of classical music. I hope you'll give it a listen. This is what I imagined Lee played for Kara when he sat down at the piano. (And just so you know, he only plays her about the first 4 1/2 minutes. He won't finish the piece until later in the story.)

Frederic Chopin – "Ballade No. 1 in G Minor (Op. 23)"

_If possible PLEASE track this piece down and listen to it. I think it will help put the chapter in context._


	7. Chapter 7

**Borrowed Time** K/L pre-mini fic (chapter 7/12…ish)  
**Rating:** still M  
**Word Count:** ~4,100  
**Spoilers: **Through the mini-series.  
**Disclaimer: **It all belongs to RDM & Co.

**  
**Author's Note:_**  
**__Graduation day! The mission! Hold onto your hats, kids, because this chapter's got a little bit of everything—adventure, romance, and grade-A dramarama. Damn, it feels good to be writing this story again. *g*__**  
**_

***********  
Chapter 7  
***********

_**Black ops rendezvous point**_  
_**6 klicks north of Viper Weapons School**_  
_**50,000 feet and climbing**_  
_**Day of the mission**_

"Drop point in t-minus 2 minutes, Starbuck."

"Roger that, Apollo."

They'd just finished the graduation ceremony show—two knife-edged passes and a death roll into a textbook Virgon feint—and met up at the checkpoint about fifteen minutes later. They climbed, as they'd done in dozens of test runs, both birds ascending to the drop point. It was close enough to just break atmo—enough to reach critical mass velocity, then they would cut the engines and nose dive into a freefall, plummeting back towards the ground in a barely controlled glide. They'd restart the engines when they were low enough that their heat signals wouldn't appear on Dradis. If they could pull it off, it would prove that stealth flight in a Viper was possible.

The problem was, they hadn't gotten low enough yet to lose their Dradis signature. The stunt would only work if two birds could fall at once, the second interfering with the first's heat signature long enough to confuse the system.

They'd been pulling out at 1,000 feet pretty regularly, but so far the best they'd done is muddle the signal for a few seconds. Today they were set to pull at 750, but they'd been arguing since last night about whether or not to go lower. Kara knew in her gut that anything over 500 before cutting the engines back on—at least for the second bird in the fall—wouldn't be enough to take them off the grid.

Unfortunately, lowering the save point could be deadly. No pilot on record had ever been able to restart engines and pull out at anything under 500 feet. Too many G's could kill even the best of pilots, and trying to react quick enough to save yourself and remain conscious in a 7-G pull was unheard of.

Climbing now, she rocked back into her seat and tightened her muscles in anticipation of the drop. They flew until the clear blue of the sky began to wash away into inky black.

"Freefall in three, two, one…" Lee said. "Cutting fuel now."

"Wilco," she replied as the engine died and her bird went from arching upwards into a graceful slope back down.

The world was quiet and weightless and beautiful suspended in front of them.

"I just love a nice ride in the countryside," Kara sighed with a smirk. She could almost hear the eyeroll that preceded Lee's response.

"Just keep your mind on the mission, Starbuck."

_40 seconds until hard deck._

She bit her lip and paused before continuing. "Ah, about that," her voice was soft, serious. "Seven-fifty isn't low enough for the second bird, Lee."

"Kara, we've been over this. It'll work at 750."

"No it won't and you know it—you've run the numbers just like me. It's gotta be 500."

_30 seconds until hard deck._

"Starbuck, of all the godsdamn times to get a wild hair up your ass—"

"We've been talking about this for—this isn't anything new! Apollo, trust me. If this is gonna work, I need to clear 500 feet."

"The hell you do," he shot back. "Getting killed won't help us complete the mission."

"Will you just listen to me? I can do this. _We_ can do this. I know it."

His voice was quiet for a moment. She knew he knew she was right, but he was still hesitating.

_20 seconds._

"I… don't want you to risk it, Kara." His voice was hushed, as close to her as if he was still sitting at her kitchen table, his hand covering hers.

"We can do this, Lee," she insisted, feeling their connection even across the static-filled com line. "_Trust me._"

_10 seconds until hard deck._

"Ok," he breathed. "But you damn sure better come back to me."

Kara felt a flutter that had nothing to do with bracing for impact. "I will."

Their birds were side by side. Kara took one brief moment to glance beside her, and saw Lee looking back. If she had the time to study his face, she knew what she'd find—the fierce determination in his eyes, the concern, and a hint of something else. Taking a deep breath, she drew on her old bravado that had seen her through many a death-defying stunt before. She flashed a grin. "Smile, Lee. We're about to make history."

She saw him fire up his thrusters and pull out of the dive. In mere seconds she would do the same. Bracing her body for impact, she pushed back in the chair and said a quick prayer and kicked the fuel line back on.

_Three, two … one._

The impact that a high-altitude drop has on your body feels minimal because it is—freefall is a breeze—a weightless, effortless, graceful dance with the sky. The problem is not falling, it's trying to stop. Switching off the momentum and pulling out. The trick is not to pass out when you hit the throttle—and gravity kicks in. If you didn't pay attention to your breathing and your body—if you weren't tensing every major muscle group as if you were bracing for a godsdamed apocalypse—the blood in your head would go straight to your feet and you'd pass out.

The pressure was deafening, overwhelming. Just when she felt she couldn't go any further back, the g-force slammed into her chest as if she'd run full speed into a brick wall. Kara felt the skin sliding across her face, saw the veins outlined in her hands as she struggled to control her bird and level it out.

She heard Lee's voice over the com, straining, as he regained his breath and leveled out, seconds ahead of her a couple hundred feet above. "I'm out. You ok, Starbuck?"

Kara tried to respond, but her throat closed around the words.

"Kara?" she heard him ask again, his voice becoming stronger. "_Kara?!_"

She tried to mouth the words, but nothing came out. Black began to fold in around the edges of her vision, closer and closer until it felt like she was looking out of a tunnel. It took every ounce of strength for her to focus on keeping her bird steady. All sound was drowned out by the unimaginable amount of concentration it took just to keep breathing. _Breathe,_ she screamed at herself. _Breathe, godsdammit!_ She counted each the second with one syllable, keeping one face fixed in her mind.

_Lee, Lee, Lee._

There was no way in hell she wasn't coming back from this. Biting her lip so hard she drew blood, she finally felt the pressure start to lift as her bird steadied and leveled out.

"Yeah," she gasped. "Yeah, I'm here."

~~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two hours later, Kara was standing before a mirror outside the top floor ballroom of the Neptune Hotel, running a hand through still wet hair.

She hadn't seen Lee since they'd both hit the hard deck and come out of freefall. As planned, he landed on the far side of campus near the radar towers so he could check the data from their flight and see if they'd succeeded in the mission. To avoid suspicion, Kara headed back to the main hangar bay with the rest of the flyover crew, explaining Lee's absence by saying that he'd taken his bird in for maintenance after the ceremony. They figured the most innocuous place to meet back up was the cadet graduation party. Besides, at some point she was going to have to locate Zak, and she knew he'd be leading the charge of post-graduation revelers.

The formal gala had been held the night before, with cadets in their dress greys and their families enjoying all the pomp and circumstance the Colonial Fleet could muster. Tonight's party was a far wilder affair. Only cadets (and graduates) were allowed, and the dress code was civilian. Basically, a glorified keg party—for about 1200 people.

Kara soon gave up on her hair—it apparently wasn't going to do anything other than look permanently tousled this evening, and focused instead on the slight rings around her eyes. She could see where the thin webbing of blood vessels at the creases of her eyes had started to break from holding the muscles so tightly. It made her look like she had on random smudges of purple eyeshadow.

"You cut it too damn close, Thrace," she murmured to herself as she wandered through the large double doors and into the main ballroom.

She ignored the first few catcalls and whistles from former students, but soon she just had to stop and take a bow in true Starbuck fashion. Poor kids. Four months of busting their butts and they never realized that their hard-ass flight instructor was also very much a female. A former Cadet just stood by and stammered.

"Sir, you look…" the young man trailed off, just trying to take in the sight of God in heels and a strapless black top. "Take it easy there, Noser," Kara said with a wicked wink. "Little too early in the evening to be passing out."

She moved through the crowd, zig-zagging her way into the room until she reached the edge of the dance floor. The music was pounding—deafening—and she could barely see across the room for all the inebriated bodies in front of her. The song that had been playing finally stopped, and the floor began to clear a bit as the music began again. A movement from across the room caught her attention. Sure enough, it was Lee, looking cool and calm and far too well put together considering what they'd been through today. He spotted her at nearly the same time, and met her smirk with a look designed to kill.

He was all the way across the floor, about 30 or 40 feet away, and he looked like he was contemplating murder. His brows creased and his eyes narrowed.

_I Can't Believe You Did That_, he mouthed, his eyes practically shooting flames. _I could kill you_.

Kara just rolled her eyes and shrugged as if to say, _Lighten up_. _So_, she mouthed back—_did it work__?_

He just stood that way a few seconds longer, looking as if he might still be considering bodily harm. And then suddenly, his face changed, breaking into a wide smile that lit up the whole room.

He nodded once, and Kara started laughing and running towards him, weaving through the crowd until she launched himself at him, throwing her arms around his neck. He caught her and spun her around.

"We did it, we frakking did it!" she chanted into his ear.

"Yeah," he chuckled. "We did."

She buried her face in his neck and grinned. "Holy frakking hell, Lee Adama." She pulled back a bit. "Damned if we didn't just make two Vipers disappear."

Lee nodded and smiled again, and for the first time, Kara realized just how close he was holding her. Close enough to study the angle of his jaw, the curve of his lower lip. Close enough to feel him pressed up against all the right places. Arms wrapped around her waist, shoulders warm and broad against her fingertips, not an inch of space between them from chest to knees. She'd often wondered but never imagined it would feel so damn good.

Half of her wanted to lean in closer and explore those lips that were hovering just above hers, but the responsible half of her brain screamed that she needed some distance—now. Reluctantly, she pulled back and broke contact.

"So..." she began, feeling awkward. "You've got to tell me all about it."

"Huh?" Lee responded cupping his ear and shaking his head. "I can't hear you."

He was right. Now that they weren't wrapped around each other, the ballroom was much too noisy to try carrying on any kind of normal conversation. She grabbed his hand and motioned toward the balcony. "Come on."

~~~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~

The view from the roof was spectacular. Whoever'd designed the building, some famous architect that Lee couldn't remember—a friend of his grandfather's—had done a brilliant job. Half of the top floor was composed of a two-story ballroom and the other half was a rooftop garden. Though crowded, there were a lot less rowdy cadets to deal with out here. He followed Kara down winding pathways, around the occasional fountain until they ended up standing at the far end, next to the glass railing looking out over downtown Delphi. It was quiet enough now they could actually hear each other, the music of the ballroom far in the distance, the only sounds coming from a few small groups of cadets here and there.

He leaned against the rail and looked back the way they'd come, absently studying the glass and steel mixed in with green.

"What is it?" Kara interrupted his thoughts. "You act like you've never been here before."

"I haven't," he replied. "I missed this party my senior year." Lee just shook his head and shrugged. "I was doing some independent study and spent graduation night finishing up the project."

Kara snorted. "Typical. And now here you are fresh from another homework assignment."

He gave her a sideways grin. "Guess some things never change."

"So…." she continued, punching him playfully in the arm. "Tell me!"

Lee had focus his attention back on the question and away from what Kara was wearing. _Had her skin always been so smooth?_ he wondered. It practically glowed in the moonlight. He remembered how good it'd felt to hold her inside, and his fingers itched to touch her again so badly that he had to shove them into his pockets to concentrate.

"Oh," he stammered, snapping back to attention. "Right. Well, the freefall drop worked like a charm. After we hit the hard deck, the signal was completely wiped out."

"And the heat signature scans?"

"Negative as well."

"Son of a bitch!" she crowed, grabbing his upper arms and throwing her head back in laughter. "I told you 500 would work."

He just raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "So you did. Doesn't mean I'm going to forgive you anytime soon for that little stunt you pulled." His brows knit together and he was doing his best to look stern, even though he was so damn happy to see her alive and breathing that it was wrecking the effect.

"Lee, I'm fine," she shrugged, stepping back and holding out her arms. "See? No scratches."

He made a big show of looking her over, taking in the heels, the pants, that shirt, bare arms and shoulders and a hint of cleavage, up into her face—lips smiling, eyes bright. She was luminous. Not even thinking, he trailed his fingers across her collarbone and down her arm. "Hmmm," he murmured, "you seem to be in one piece." His voice felt scratchy and unfamiliar.

"Huh?" Kara seemed to be caught staring at him. "Oh. Yeah. You see? Fine." She winked, and that's when he noticed the odd shadows around her eyes.

"Wait a minute," he said, gently capturing her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Hold still." Carefully, he traced the bruises from brow to cheekbone, his fingers repeating the pattern over and over.

"It was close," she shrugged, trying to look away.

"Too close," he whispered, brushing his knuckles against her jaw until she met his eyes again.

"But I made it," she argued. "I came back."

_To you._ The words lay unspoken between them.

Absently, she licked her lips and Lee came undone. Not thinking, not stopping, just giving in to pure instinct, he closed the last few inches between them and pressed his mouth to hers. A connection of skin to skin and lips to lips became a lifeline. His arms followed, wrapping around her, and flashes of the past eight days of their acquaintance seemed to play like some bizarre slideshow. She'd made him crazy and edgy and angry and basically driven him out of his mind—but gods, never had he felt more alive. After years of grey, the world was filled with color and sound and a hundred other things he'd never dreamed of. Like a long cool drink in the desert, he finally understood. The kind of clarity you pray for—you beg for—and never get, he got in spades right then and there.

_Her._ It was her. In that moment, Lee knew. As certain as falling over a cliff or tumbling down a hill, he knew. For the first time in his life, Lee Adama fell in love.

He pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her jaw, smiling as he slid his face against hers. He heard a soft sigh and a muffled sound before her body turned rigid and she jumped back, hands covering her mouth and eyes wide in horror.

"Oh gods—"

_Zak._ "I'm sorry—"

They both just stood there for a moment, no idea what to say. Kara looked as if she'd seen a ghost.

"Lee, oh gods—what have we—

"I know," he raked a hand through his hair and tried to catch his breath. Shit. The happiness he felt was immediately undercut by the loyalty to his brother. Their loyalty. Kara looked like she was about two seconds from bolting.

The urge to touch her again was so great he had to grip the railing instead. "I know… this is crazy," he began, "and the timing… and the situation with…" he couldn't bring himself to say his brother's name, he just had to keep on going. "This couldn't be more frakked up, but Kara—" he couldn't help himself, the words just tumbled out, and, before he knew it, he'd put his heart on the line. "Tell me you don't feel the same way."

"I—" she began, and it looked as if she were trying to make the words come out, but there was no sound. Lee would bet every cubit in the bank that, for the very first time in her life, Kara had been rendered speechless.

"Look," he began, "how about I go get us something to drink, and we can talk about this, ok? Just talk."

Slowly, as if in a trance, Kara nodded. "Ok." It looked like she was still struggling to find her voice. "That—that'd be good." The tension started to ease from her body and she gave him the very smallest of smiles in return. His heart soared.

"Ok, then. I'll be right back. Don't wander off."

Kara just shook her head in a dazed fashion and watched him go.

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

_Oh gods._

Kara collapsed on a nearby bench, head in her hands, just trying to get her breathing under control. She fought down a wave of panic and willed her mind to focus, but a voice inside kept repeating _What have you done?_

She knew exactly what she'd done. She'd just kissed her boyfriend's brother. No, more than that—she'd practically devoured him. Even now, in the midst of mortification, she was reliving every single second. "Oh gods," she repeated out loud. "What the frak am I gonna do?"

The longer she sat out there, the more she realized she'd wanted to do that from the very first moment they met. She'd thought she could ignore the way she felt around him—but oh, was she ever wrong. The last few days she'd spent with Lee flashed through her mind in quick succession, and she had the queasy feeling that this was way more than infatuation. She quickly pushed the thought aside.

In the distance, she began to hear some yells and whistles. The party was warming up. She turned her gaze away to the view of the city when she heard an all-too-familiar voice.

"All hail the conquering heroes!"

Twenty yards away in the midst of a bunch of rowdy cadets, Zak stood surrounded as if he was holding court. He had on some kind of ridiculous paper crown, a few plastic laurel garlands had been tossed around his neck, and he was still wearing the medal that indicated he'd finished first in his advanced communications course. And he was drunker than an entire regiment of Tauron sailors on shore leave.

Kara felt the blood drain from her face and prayed that she wouldn't be spotted.

At some point he'd also acquired a broomstick that he proceeded to wield like a ringmaster's cane. "To the men and women of the Colonial Fleet Academy, I salute you! Today is our day of jubilee!" With that, a loud cheer rang out and someone got the idea to hoist Zak up on his shoulders. He waved his makeshift wand like some kind of drunken pied piper.

"As I look around me, I see faces of friends and comrades alike. But there is one face I've yet to find…" he surveyed the crowd carefully, squinting and looking around in the distance. Kara felt the urge to run.

Too late.

"There she is! Over there! Deliver me to that fair lady, kind sirs!" Before she knew what was happening, the entire crowd shifted and began to move toward Kara, the younger Adama now leading the way from his crow's nest perch.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Boy and girls! Gather round, for I have a declaration to make." He pointed to Kara, "Most of you minions know this woman as God—and of course she is." Laughter rang out all around. "One of the best damn pilots this Fleet has ever seen, and, for those of you blessed souls lucky enough to be in the flight program, you've had the honor of getting your ass kicked on a regular basis by this lovely flower." More laughs and snickers.

"Why, I remember the first day I met her, standing in front of the sims, and I asked her if she wanted to go out with me." A few knowing groans rang out from other cadets who'd had a similar experience. "She told me to frak off, and threw me in hack for good measure." Zak grinned and chuckled to himself. "I think from that moment on, my dear friends, I was in love with this Angel of Flight." A bit of applause rang out around him. Apparently Zak wasn't the only person who had harbored a crush. Kara prayed he'd just leave it at that.

"Ah ha! See, I feel your pain, my fellow classmates," he continued. "But—BUT!" He raised his hands to quiet them. "But wait! My story has a different ending! Unlike you sorry sons-of-bitches, _I_ persisted." Zak slowly made his way down from his makeshift throne, clearly enjoying the spotlight. He stood before Kara and gave her a deep bow.

"What the hell are you doing?" Kara hissed.

He grinned back, a smile that was half-champagne, half-adoration. "Kara, my love, fear not. I stand before you no longer a student, but a godsdamned Colonial Fleet graduate!" Another cheer erupted, and he had to wait for the crowd to settle down again before continuing. "And as such, I say the following: I LOVE YOU, KARA THRACE!"

The roar from the crowd was deafening.

"And because—" Zak strained to be heard over the din, "because I am no longer a lowly student, I can do this." He sank to one knee, and Kara felt her heart drop through the floor.

After regaining his balance from the slight change in altitude, he briefly searched his shirt until he located the ring on which his academic award was pinned. He yanked it off and grabbed her left hand, squinting in concentration. "Damn thing won't fit anywhere but your thumb," he murmured as he slid it on. Kara was frozen with shock. "Watch this," he said to her, and winked.

"Kara Thrace," he bellowed. "Will you marry me?"

The crowd hushed as they realized this was no joke, and every ambrosia-soaked cadet leaned in for her response. Kara wished the ground would open up and swallow her.

"I—"

She was interrupted by nearby crash. Two goblets lay smashed against the concrete, the wine spreading across the floor like a bloodstain. Lee stood over them, his eyes glued in shock to the scene before him.

Graduation day indeed.

…_**to be continued…**_


	8. Chapter 8

**Borrowed Time** K/L pre-mini fic (chapter 8/12…ish)  
**Rating:** still M  
**Word Count:** ~3,500  
**Spoilers: **Through the mini-series.  
**Disclaimer: **It all belongs to RDM & Co.

**Author's Note****:**_**  
**_**_The fallout! What's going to happen now? Has Bee woven a drama from which there is no point of return?_**_**  
**_

Chapter 8

Kara idly hummed as she rocked back and forth in the predawn light. After Zak had passed out and she'd gotten him in bed, she had stripped down to an old t-shirt and just sat on a threadbare chair on her small porch—looking out at the sky, waiting for the sun to come up. Her third floor instructor's flat didn't have much of a view, and the spring air was still cold, but she didn't care. She'd just taken out an ancient pack of cigarettes hidden in a kitchen drawer, and stared out into space.

She lit the tip of the cigarette and took a long drag, feeling the nicotine air pull deep inside her lungs. She'd given it up her first year at the academy, after her mom got sick. Just one more thing she'd rather not have in common with Socrata Thrace. Except for the occasional cigar, she hadn't smoked in over four years. She felt lightheaded almost immediately, enjoying the buzz that comes after going so long without.

A buzz felt much better than a clear head right now. She wanted to scrape away the rough edges—to blur the words and thoughts crawling under her skin. She needed to turn down the volume, make the world a little more grey. Exhaling, she enjoyed the haze of smoke that now hung in the air.

She focused on the two objects sitting on the table in front of her—Zak's ring and a half-full glass of ambrosia. She sat there for gods knew how long, just replaying the events of the night over and over. The memories broke into two groups—those layered with a greenish blue cast—dropping to the ground in her bird, his voice in her ear, the feel of his arms around her, his kiss, the way he'd looked at her. _"Tell me you don't feel this too."_ She pushed away from them, wanting to keep them in a haze. Like a dream, lock them away somewhere to save them and hold them close in the years to come. After it was all gone.

The second batch of memories was clearer, sharper. Colored in shades of yellow and red. Zak's voice and his beautiful drunken smile. His showmanship. His unguarded affection. She saw him, over and over again in her mind, bending to one knee before her, slipping the cold metal over her thumb. Heard his words ringing out over the crowd. A question. A question that demanded answer.

And what had she'd done? Her first instinct—always the first—was to run, but physically she'd been trapped. So she did the next best thing she could think of—made some smartass remark and then kissed him. When hiding wasn't an option, diversionary tactics were your next best bet. It seemed to work, the crowd cheered in approval and Zak flashed an adoring smile. Appearances were preserved.

And when she looked up, Lee was gone.

_It's for the best_, a voice inside her said. _It would have broken eventually. Best to do it now._ She lit another cigarette, inhaling the smoke so deeply she almost choked. Pulling it out of her mouth, she stared at the burning tip and thought of another day long ago.

_She'd come home from school to the smell of smoke. Rushing into the tiny house, she searched for the source of the fire._

_"Momma?" She cried hesitantly, not knowing if she should speak or if this would just get her in trouble._

_"Out here, Kara." _

_She heard her mother's calm voice coming from beyond the back porch, and took off as fast as her eight-year-old legs would carry her. Socrata stood, stirring a kind of bonfire and opening up the contents of an old cigar box. Kara's prayer box. A box of trinkets you kept in honor of those you prayed for—a tangible reminder of what your intangible prayers were about. Kara had always kept it carefully hidden, but apparently she hadn't been careful enough. Slowly, Socrata lifted the box above the flames and emptied out the contents. Sheets of her father's music, a lock of hair from a long-gone friend, notes she'd saved from a kind art teacher—they all fell into the fire._

_"Momma NO!" she screamed and jumped toward the flames. Her mother caught her by her long blonde ponytail and yanked her back from the edge. Kara fought, straining against the rough hold even as tears sprang to her eyes._

_"Be still, Kara!" she hissed. "Still," she said more quietly. Keeping a harsh grip on her hair, she began to pat her shoulder. "This is for the best."_

_The tears streamed down her face, as she watched the precious objects crumple in the heat of the fire. "But those were for… my … prayers," she stammered._

_Socrata's face remained emotionless as she watched the flames. "The only thing you should be praying for is forgiveness." _

_"But momma, I say my prayers every day just like I should—"_

_Her words were cut off by Socrata's violent shaking of her shoulders as she flipped Kara around to face her. "The gods don't listen to the prayers of the wicked!" Her mother's eyes were flashing, manic. "They don't listen because you are not good. You're not a good girl, Kara, and they know that. Anything good you ever have, they will take away. Because they know you're not worthy."_

_"You're—not—worthy." she repeated quietly and slowly. "So go!" She flung her daughter backwards and she landed, stumbling. "And pray, Kara, pray hard. Pray that the gods will have mercy on you."_

_Kara ran back into the house, crying. She kept running, out the front door, down streets and alleyways until her legs gave out. She ended up on a pile of boxes behind a local dime store. She sat there and cried for gods knew how long. Cried until she was sure she didn't have any tears left. Eventually, the tears subsided, and she just sat there for the longest time, her hands idly shredding bits of paper. The tears were gone now, replaced with something else, something stronger. Anger. All she saw in the rubble was a discarded bag of plastic bugs. Clutching them tightly to her chest, she found the strength to get up and force her legs to take her back home. _

_If she had to pray for forgiveness, she might as well have something to pray for. _

The light shook her out of her thoughts. The sun had started to come up.

She heard a rustling noise inside, followed by a crash and a couple of choice expletives. Then she heard the grinder, followed by the sounds of someone making coffee. Ten minutes later Zak emerged, carrying two cups, one of which he set down in font of her like a tentative offering. His hair stood on end, and the usual carefree look had been replaced by something else—something older and wary.

He paused before speaking.

"So…" he began. "Exciting night."

Kara just picked up her mug and looked back at him.

"So, uh…" he continued, scrubbing a hand through his black hair, "about what I said. Aside, of course from the fact that it was charming and utterly romantic—not to mention a once-in-a-lifetime memory—I can see that some might interpret my words as … putting you on the spot."

She stayed quiet. She wasn't ready to make this easy.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he sighed. "That was a pretty jackass thing to do, huh?"

She just looked at him, too exhausted to reply.

"Kara, I'm sorry." He stood up and paced in front of her. "It's just…. These past couple weeks, it feels like you're slipping away from me. It's like you're there, in front of me, but your mind is somewhere else. I figured it was just graduation, you know—everything changing, I'll be shipping out soon. I just didn't want _us_ to change."

He bent down in font of her, bringing their faces level. "And I want more than that, but I know I didn't go about it in the right way. Just please… give it a few days, Kara. Just think about it." He took her hand. "Think about it…" he repeated. "Because this could work—I know it could. And, because I love you." He pressed a kiss into her open palm and pressed it against his cheek.

"Zak, I don't—"

"Please," he jumped in, "don't give me your answer yet." He stood back up. "Look, I signed up for some additional training exercises on Picon next week. I leave in the morning. So how about you and I just grab some dinner tonight—meet up with a couple friends, and then you can have some time alone to think." He leaned down and kissed her, long and sweet, and Kara felt her eyes get wet as she thought about all the demons he'd manage to chase away in the months they'd been together.

She stroked the side of his face. "Ok," she whispered.

"Ok," he smiled.

~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~

Lee grabbed the fifth of ambrosia he'd been nursing and staggered to the couch in his temporary quarters. He was not nearly drunk enough. There probably wasn't enough alcohol on earth to quench his thirst right now.

Even since he was a small boy, Lee didn't like relying on emotion. On feelings. On faith or anything that you couldn't see, couldn't touch. Especially when it came to people. Hope in people would just kill you little by little—it didn't make them come back, didn't make them care. Didn't stop the criticisms or anger or the fights or the neglect.

No, he decided at the ripe old age of seven. Intangible things were highly overrated.

Instead he focused on what he could see, hear, feel, touch. On what could be measured. Quantified. Results that could be repeated in a vacuum. Facts that could be verified. On what could be seen.

Seen.

And isn't that exactly what had happened? He'd seen it. With his own two eyes. He'd made his move and lost. He'd told her what was on his mind—what had been on his mind from nearly the first moment he saw her, he'd walked away to grab a drink, and when he came back, his brother was kneeling in front of her like some knight in frakking armor, shouting his love and asking her to be his wife.

And what did she do? She just gave him a heart-stopping smile, said _"You frakking idiot,"_ and pulled him up for a kiss in front of roaring crowd. It was picture perfect, like some scene out of a godsdamned movie.

He wasn't sure which part he hated more—the bad decision of falling for her in the first place, or the unforgivable sin he'd committed against his only brother.

His only family if you got right down to it. _Zak. Gods._ If Hades did exist, he was pretty sure there was a special place reserved for men who fell in love with their brothers' girlfriends.

But part of him remembered the kiss, the way she felt, how she responded—and he wasn't sorry at all.

It only made him drink more.

Engagement. Marriage. Kara. Zak. A lifetime of family dinners and gatherings flashed through his mind and suddenly, he never wanted to be conscious again. A home. Family. Kids. He thought he was going to be sick.

Best to keep on drinking.

He was three-quarters of the way through when he heard the phone in the distance. "Frak!" he cried as he stubbed his foot on the end table in his haste to make the damn thing stop ringing.

"Yeah?"

"Lee?" _Frak._ It was his brother's voice.

"Hey Zak."

A pause. "Gods, you sounds awful, dude. Whatchya been doing all day?"

_Aside from ruing the day I was born?_ "Not much."

"Sounds like you could use a night out."

"No, Zak really—"

"Oh shut up. You're on break and you should act like it. Kara and I are going to _Anthony's_ with some friends to celebrate, and your ass needs to be there by 1900, or I'm coming over there myself and dragging you out."

"I'm really not feeling up to it…"

"Come on, Lee. Stop stalling. Besides, I've got to ship out to Picon in the morning and I won't be able to join you at granddad's lake house. So this is the last time I'll get to see you before you go back to school. So, come on…. Please?"

He never could say no to his little brother.

"Ok," he said finally.

"Great!" Zak chirped. "See you then."

"Hey Zak—" he couldn't say nearly enough, but he needed to get his out. "I'm sorry I haven't gotten to spend that much time with you this week."

"No worries. I know you had to work on the flyby with Kara."

_Kara. Gods._ Moving on. "Yeah, well, it's just that, we haven't really gotten a chance to talk, and I—" Lee fumbled, not quite knowing what to say. He decided to stick with the truth, at least, what truth he could say out loud. "I'm really proud of you, Zak. Graduating with honors, passing basic flight—I just wanted to tell you that I'm really proud. And that I love you. I don't say that enough."

It was penance, and it wasn't nearly enough, but it was the best he could do right now.

There was a long pause, and Zak's voice broke a bit as he continued. "Thanks, Lee. Really, thanks." He stopped to clear his throat, and some of the old swagger crept back. "Well… I guess I just wanted to be like my big brother."

Lee felt his throat constrict, but he choked the words out. "You're a helluva lot better man than he is. I'll see you tonight."

"Ok. Bye Lee, …and thanks."

Lee hung up the phone, a slight weight having lifted. _The lake house._ Yes. His salvation. The original godsdamn plan to begin with before he got mixed up with the mission. He'd go to dinner tonight, say farewell to Zak… and her, then go get some frakking peace for the last two weeks of his vacation. There was a well-stocked liquor cabinet there too, and enough silence to quiet the swirling voices inside his head.

Finishing the last of the bottle, he began throwing his things in a suitcase. It was time to get the hell out of town.

~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~

_Anthony's_. Kara looked around at the familiar dive bar, her favorite place—which is the reason Zak had picked it—and all she could think about was Lee. The night they'd met. The night she saw him across the room and had no idea who he was. Just some cocky officer who pushed her buttons. They'd had a drink, they'd challenged some random guys to a pyramid game… and had gotten kicked out because of a barfight. Hardly the stuff of fairytales. And yet, looking around the place, she felt so nostalgic for that night—before things had become so frakking complicated. For a moment it felt hard to breathe.

Had it really only been nine days? She felt so much older.

"Hey babe, you alright?" Zak asked, squeezing her hand.

"Yeah," she nodded. "I'm good. Just need a row of shots to get this evening started." The sooner the better, she thought. He hadn't shown up yet, and she hadn't drunk nearly enough to face him.

"So you two," Zak's fellow graduate spoke up—Conner? Christiansen? Kara couldn't remember. It's not like they'd made it a habit of hanging out with his friends when he was still her student. "Have you set a date yet?"

Kara blanched a bit a reached for the nearest drink.

"Nah," Zak waved off the question. "We're taking things slow. I'm just glad as hell she didn't throw me in hack last night."

The entire table chuckled, and she felt herself relax just the tiniest bit. Zak wrapped his arm around her and she tried to lean in.

The evening settled into a comfortable haze of drinking and swapping Academy stories. And still no sign of Lee. Kara felt herself half hoping that he wouldn't show. Then a movement across the room caught her eye.

Too late.

There he was, bleary-eyed and beautiful, his eyes locked on hers as he walked towards the table.

"Lee!" Zak cried out. "Thought you weren't going to show!" He jumped up and wrapped him in a huge hug, and Kara hated herself in that moment—for a thousand reasons, but most of all for coming between them. They deserved better.

Lee grasped his brother's face between his hands and gave him a playful headbutt. "Yeah, well. Your loss," he said with a too-bright smile. Kara felt a frisson of panic. Breaking their embrace, he cast a predatory glance around the room, grabbing the first full shot of ambrosia he found, and downing it in a quick gulp.

_Oh gods._ This wasn't good.

For while though, it was relatively calm. Lee duifully met his brother's friends, and after the commotion over meeting honest-to-gods Apollo in the flesh had subsided, the stories began flying, along with the banter and the laughter. Thankfully, the engagement didn't come up again. Lee joined in as much as anyone, but he made a point never to make eye contact with her. She was glad. It was almost a relief after what she'd been expecting.

One hour rolled into two, and she'd almost made the mistake of getting comfortable (as comfortable as she could be around him), when he stood up.

"No, no, really," he was saying. "I need to get going. Got an early day tomorrow and I've got to get some sleep." He grabbed his jacket and turned to go, and Kara began to let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding, when he paused for a long moment and turned back to face the table. She froze.

"You know," he began, "given the circumstances, there's really something I ought to do." He grabbed the nearest bottle of ambrosia and began filling glasses.

"I've always been close to my little brother. Ever since we were kids. Always looked after him—took care of him. And of course, I always knew this day would come. Someone would come along and steal his heart away." He looked at Kara for the briefest of seconds before continuing.

"And oh lords, did he ever pick the perfect woman. The one who pushed his buttons, who challenged him, who never let him get away with anything."

"So," be began, picking up a bottle. "I'd like to propose a toast to the happy couple."

~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~

He'd promised himself he was gonna keep quiet. That's what he'd always done, right? Let Zak take the spotlight. He'd just sit back in the corner and observe.

Maybe it was the constant hum of alcohol in his veins, or the fact that he'd managed to keep up a civil conversation for two hours even though he was pretty sure he was losing his damn mind, or maybe just because he was standing in front of her again—looking at her—her lips, her eyes, her smile, and knew they were meant for someone else. Never for him.

Never. That was all it took for the once quiet Apollo to find his voice. All his civility, all his good intentions, just left him in an instant, and once the words started coming out, he couldn't stop.

_"I'd like to present a toast to the happy couple."_

No turning back now. Might as well leave it all on the field.

"To soulmates!" he began and downed a shot, welcoming the sting. Everyone else followed suit. Except Kara. She just watched.

He refilled the glasses. "To finding that person who understands you like no one else."

"To true love!" Another drink.

"To trust," the word almost stuck in his throat.

"To faithfulness…" he wasn't sure who he wanted to hurt more, her or himself.

"To happy endings!" his smile stretched so thin he felt it might break.

"To finding someone who feels like …" he stopped, the emotion finally overtaking him and causing him to pause a beat. "Like … home." He finished quietly. He took his shot and slammed it down on the table, catching her eyes once more. She looked about as ill as he felt. _Good._

He stumbled over to his little brother and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Congratulations." _Gods._ He wanted so much to be sincere.

The others at the table the table were instantly occupied with echoing his sentiments to Zak. Finally, Lee allowed himself to look at Kara. A long hard look, full of anger and regret and so many other things he couldn't say. Eyes never leaving her face, he picked up one more shot, downed it, turned and walked away.

**_..... to be continued..... _**


	9. Chapter 9

**Borrowed Time** K/L pre-mini fic (chapter 9/12…ish)  
**Rating:** still M  
**Word Count:** ~3,100  
**Spoilers: **Through the mini-series.  
**Disclaimer: **It all belongs to RDM & Co.

Author's Note:_**  
**__Music, angst, thunderstorms, denial, rage, unspeakable passion. Just your average day in BeeLand.__**  
**_

***********  
Chapter 9  
***********

Some six hours later, after sleep and about a gallon of coffee, Lee pulled onto the dirt road leading up to the lake house. The sun had only been up for a little while, and the light's reflection off the water was almost blinding as he pulled in.

Maybe—finally, he could start to breathe now.

He got out of the rented jeep and walked around to the back of the house, looking down to the series of steps that came off the porch and led down to the dock. If he had to come from a completely frakked up family, Lee mused, at least they had money. Money did a good job of smoothing out the edges, giving a measure of independence from an early age, creating a natural buffer that enabled him to minimize the time he spent with his parents. All the better for taking care of Zak. Two houses were much better than one, and the third was just icing. When his mom wasn't living in town she was down at the beach house, and his dad rarely came to visit at all. No one ever used his grandfather's lake house except him—Zak was always too busy, it was too quiet for Caroline, and Bill seemed to hate it because of the connection it held to his dad. Funny how that's what made Lee love it the best. That and it was quiet. A good place to get away and think. A good place to be alone.

Even though it was only a 45-minute drive from the Academy, he'd never had much time to go there as a cadet. Too much studying, too much flying, too much hazing for being Bill Adama's son, and too much time spent trying to prove himself to ever leave campus. But since he'd started War College, he tried to come back every chance he got. Tucked away in the woods, it was small log-cabin style house that sat on a hill next to an isolated inlet of Spartan Lake. It wasn't flashy and it wasn't exclusive. It was just a small country lake outside of a small country town.

Just his speed.

Grabbing his duffel out of the back, he tossed it in the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water, and headed back outside. He dropped into the hammock with a long sigh.

Funny thing about peace and quiet, Lee discovered, is that it gives you a lot of time to think. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw a replay of the past 24 hours. The past week. The more Lee tried not to think about it, the more the words grew louder and louder inside his head. The images became clearer. Soon the view of the trees and the water was replaced with her face. The way she'd looked at him last night. The abject loathing.

_No_, he decided. No emotions. He'd felt more in the past week than he had in the past ten years. He needed to get back in control—make things go back to the way they used to be. Cool, calm, unflappable Adama. He could do this. He'd had years of practice.

But by mid morning, all he had to show for his efforts was a raging headache and an almost unbearable restlessness. He got up and went into the house, stopping at the door to his grandfather's study. It had been his favorite room as a child. Lee had fond memories of the old man, spending every summer up here since he was five. He felt at peace with Joe Adama; they just innately understood each other. He had an easy smile like Zak's, but an intense gaze. Searching. Penetrating. Striving for gods knew what. Often that gaze would be fixed on him. He'd taught him to fish up here, how to swim, and they'd wasted endless hours in the study, just pouring over old books.

In high school though, at what he'd later found out was his mother's urging, his grandfather had surprised him one summer by purchasing a shiny black baby grand piano and placing it right next to the window seat. It was so out of proportion for the small room that there was barely space to fit a small sofa against the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on the opposite wall. He'd hated its presence there at the time; he was through with playing and having it there was just another reminder of how he couldn't ever measure up. From that time on, he avoided it, preferring to be anywhere but that pine-paneled room.

Today though, it was the only place he wanted to be. Opening the doors, he walked over to the instrument and removed the dust cloth that had covered it for so long. His fingers stroked the contours of the keyboard, reaching out to tentatively touch the keys. It was badly out of tune, but he could fix that. Sitting down at the never-used bench, within minutes he had corrected the pitch and a loud string of scales and arpeggios echoed throughout the house as his hands moved quickly and efficiently.

Gods, that felt good. For the first time in days, it felt like he could finally get some air.

The need to keep playing multiplied, and soon, it wasn't enough to scratch out a couple of tunes from memory. He began searching the bookshelves, looking for pages of sheet music placed here and there. It was a handful, but not nearly enough, and he remembered that there had been several boxes of music delivered with the piano so many years ago. He raced up the stairs and into the hallway off the bedrooms. Yanking down the attic ladder, he hauled himself up and dug through years of dust, tearing through boxes like a madman until he found the ones containing the sheet music. Not caring about the dust or the dirt or the mess, he dragged them downstairs, into the middle of the study, and began rifling through them.

After what seemed like hours, in a search that covered nearly half the room with paper, he finally found what he was looking for. He grabbed the weathered stack of music and sat down at the piano. He began to play, softly at first, mournfully. The notes were haunting, desolate. He bent his body forward over the keys and let every single emotion escape through his fingers. All the things he couldn't say.

The more he played, the more he had to keep playing. The soft, sad tune soon gave way to a fit of passion, as his hands moved across the instrument in a frenzy just short of possession. The melody became unglued, driving and pressing and urging him on to try and get every last demon out—the sound of her laugh, the color of her eyes. How much he loved her scent. How much he hated himself for what he'd said to her; what he'd done to Zak.

It wasn't catharsis, but it wasn't penance either. Instead it was agitation, aggression, and rage that had been boiling inside him ever since the day he discovered she wasn't free. He'd spent the entire day yesterday just wallowing in guilt and self-loathing—today the anger flowed like electricity in his veins. It wasn't nearly enough, but the sounds his fingers made running up and down the keys were just loud enough to drown out all the voices. He played until he was covered in sweat, until his vision blurred and he could barely move. Finally he collapsed against the keyboard, his head resting against the music he'd just been playing.

It must have been late afternoon, the sun's rays were growing dim, and dark clouds began to gather. He heard thunder in the distance, followed by the whisper-soft sound of the rain on the leaves. He got up and walked outside.

The rain felt cool against his overheated skin. Cleansing. Not absolution—not even close—just enough to stay sane for another day. He stood there, until the rain soaked him through to the bone and the daylight had almost left the sky.

He heard a car crunching its way up the gravel drive, and he just _knew_.

~~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~

She didn't give a damn.

That's what Kara told herself when she woke up. She didn't give a damn about Lee frakking Adama or his mopey-eyed speeches or his holier-than-thou manner. She ignored the twinge in her chest, jumped straight out of bed and went to make coffee.

She didn't need this. She could get over this.

She grabbed some breakfast and got Zak out the door, sending him off with a small kiss and a big hug, and finally, all was quiet.

Quiet. Peace and frakking quiet. Just what she needed. Because she was fine. She was fine and she was going to have a normal frakking day.

Only in practice, peace and quiet didn't work so well. If anything, the silence just helped her relive the past few days over and over again. She raked an angry hand through her hair. If only she could block out what he'd said. Her life had been perfectly fine before Mr. Godsdamn Sungod decided to show up. She shut her eyes and sank her teeth into her bottom lip. The guilt and the ache welled up so much it threatened to consume her—so much that it hurt just to breathe. She ignored it, pushed it away with anger. Always anger.

Without thinking, she went straight to the place she always went—her other apartment. Instead of going in though, she just sat in her car, too much of a coward to walk back through the door. Her fingers itched to paint—to scrawl and scrape words across canvas and concrete—but all she could think about was the last time she'd been there. His presence lingered over the place like a shadow.

"Frak this," she muttered, and drove off. She was fine. She just needed to be elsewhere.

She went over to the Academy, hoping to work off some steam in the sims. No such luck. She made it to the doorway and stopped dead in her tracks. Everything about flying reminded her of him now. She went to her office, trying to sit still long enough to go through some paperwork. Instead, she just stared for ten full minutes at a rubber band lying on the ground. She left.

Frak this. Frak him.

She was fine.

So fine in fact that she ended up back at her instructor's flat and began tearing the place apart, washing every scrap of fabric, wiping down every surface. It didn't help. The harder she scrubbed or scraped, the more she would just see his wounded face in front of her, droning on about true love and trust and faithfulness. Finally, in the middle of wiping out a never-used kitchen cabinet, something snapped.

_Godsdamnsonofabitch._ She hated herself, hated him, hated her life, hated fate, and hated her godsdamn kitchen cabinets. She had to get out of there—now.

She was so frakking far from fine it wasn't even funny. Not giving a damn that she was clad only in an oversize paint shirt and a pair of threadbare shorts, she pulled on some combat boots, grabbed her keys and stormed out the door.

At first she told herself she didn't care where she was driving, but she headed north just the same. Kara wasn't exactly sure where Zak's grandfather's cabin was—she'd never been there, just heard childhood stories about it from when he and Lee were growing up. She knew it was outside Spartanville, and she figured she could just nose out the rest.

After a few wrong turns and some help from a local, she finally found the right road. Just as she turned, the sky opened up and it began to rain—quickly soaking her to the skin in the open utility truck. She was too mad to even stop and pull over to get the top up. No frakking way. Come hell or high water, she was going to pay a visit to Lee Adama.

At last she saw a clearing, followed by a modest-sized log house with a jeep parked out front. She pulled past it into the side yard, hit the brakes, killed the engine and slammed the door loud enough to nearly shake it off the hinges.

That's when she saw him, standing not twenty yards away. He looked about as soaked as she was, his dark t-shirt and jeans dripping. Gods knew how long he'd been out here.

Slowly, he turned to face her. His expression, so tender and pained last night, turned cold. "Thought you'd be busy planning the wedding." His voice was like ice.

"Frak you," she spat.

He sneered and took a few lazy steps forward. "Ahh, I see. Nothing but class, Lieutenant."

"You sonofabitch," she breathed. "I don't know what makes you think you have the right—"

His eyes flashed dangerously. "What? You try to frak all your fiancée's brothers, or am I just special?"

She closed the distance between them in seconds, fist first, hitting him in the jaw as hard as she could. His head snapped backward and his hand instinctively clutched at the side of his face. He made no sound. His eyes were glazed over, disconnected.

He straightened up and wiped the blood from the side of his mouth, glancing down in detached amusement and just took a step closer. She fought down a wave of panic as he drew near.

"_This?_" she stabbed a finger into his chest for emphasis._ "Us?_ It was nothing. Do you hear me? Nothing."

"Like hell it was," he snarled, grabbing her shoulders and pushing her back against the edge of the truck. "You're a bad liar, Kara Thrace."

She shoved against him as hard as she could, but he was ready. Every move she made, he countered, twisting into an awkward struggle until legs and arms and chests were pushed together, vying for control. The edge of the bumper caught against her knee and she lost her balance. He threw his weight against her, bending her back in an exaggerated arch over the hood of the truck. Their faces were inches apart.

She fought against the urge to close the distance between them, to take what she wanted. Instead, she just pushed back harder.

"You think this will make it better?" she taunted in a hoarse whisper. "Get it out of your system?"

"Maybe that's it," he murmured, his eyes lingering on her mouth. He shifted so his hips pressed against hers. "Just scratch the itch and be done."

"Frak you," her voice was low and dangerous.

His grip on her shoulders increased to the point of pain, and he leaned forward until his lips hovered above hers. "Why not?" he breathed and sealed their mouths together.

There was no softness, no tenderness, just a complete fight for control. His mouth slicked down the side of her neck, lips and teeth fastening on a pulse point as his hands roughly traced her waist. She gave as good as she got, scratching at the fabric to get underneath his shirt and rake her nails down his back. It was a high stakes game of one-upmanship. His thigh pressed between her legs; her hand traced the outline of him through his jeans. His hands found her breasts; she hitched a leg up on his hip. Their mouths were punishing, bruising—lips and teeth and tongue going after every piece of exposed skin.

She bit the base of his neck at the same time her hands unfastened the buttons on his jeans, and he responded by lifting her off the ground. Wrapping one hand around her waist, he drew her towards him as his other hand reached between her legs and pushed aside shorts and underwear in one rough motion. She wrapped herself around him and cried out when he pushed inside her. The movement was harsh, the grill of the truck was digging into her back, and she was pretty sure she'd cut her shoulder open on a sharp edge, but she didn't care. She just matched him move for move, muscle for muscle. There was no technique or aim to please—this was frantic, vengeful mating. It took mere seconds before she broke around him and he followed almost immediately, slamming her against the cold metal.

She felt his heart beating against her chest, his breath panting in her ear, and she wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him. But she stayed still, looking up at the sky, feeling the raindrops slide down her face. Not making eye contact, Lee pulled himself off of her and straightened up, hands planted on either side, head bowed.

After a few seconds, she followed, sliding shaky legs down to stand on the ground. She braced herself against the edge of the truck and so did he, but their bodies didn't touch. Just his chest in front of hers, his hands on either side of hers, eyes closed, just breathing. The only thing touching was their foreheads—as if they might not be able to keep their balance unless there was some physical contact. As if they both knew that touching anywhere else would be too intimate, too painful.

Devoid of thought, shattered, they said nothing. They stood there for so long that Kara feared that she should probably just go. Straighten up her clothes, get in her truck and never look back. It was over. Done.

Just when she was about to pull away, Lee brought his hand up and gently traced the tear on the sleeve on her shirt. Closing his eyes, slowly he bent down and pressed his lips to the long scrape on the top of her shoulder. The gesture was so tender, so intimate, that Kara forgot to breathe. Before she knew it, she'd brushed her fingers through his hair, her thumb carefully touching the bruise forming on his cheek. She lifted his face up and held it between her hands.

Their lips found their way back to each other carefully, tentatively. Mouths softly touching, fragile and shy in the rain.

The storm had passed.

…_**to be continued…**_


	10. Chapter 10

**Borrowed Time** K/L pre-mini fic (chapter 10/12…ish)  
**Rating:** still M  
**Word Count:** ~3,800  
**Spoilers: **Through the mini-series.  
**Disclaimer: **It all belongs to RDM & Co.

**Author's Note****:**_**  
**_**_And now … we get to the heart of the matter._**_**  
**_

************  
Chapter 10

Lee was the first to break the kiss, pulling back and carefully moving the wet hair off her forehead. The tenderness in his face took on a hint of sadness as he trailed his fingers down her cheek.

"Come on," he said quietly. "It's getting worse out here. Let's get you inside."

Kara was vaguely aware of the lightning flashing in the distance and increased pace of the rain as he laced their fingers together and led her toward the porch. It was wide and covered the back of the whole house, but they didn't stop there. Instead, he led her past the back door and into a large kitchen and living area. It was dark inside, but the storm was bright enough to outline the furniture and the massive island that stood in the center of the room.

Not breaking contact, he kept her hand in his and led her up flight of stairs with a small landing at the top, branching off into a hallway and a series of doors on either side. Opening one, he took out a worn stack of towels, stopping long enough to press them into her hands before taking out another and wrapping it around her.

"You need to get out of these clothes and get warm," he said, his hands rubbing up and down her shoulders gently. "Bathroom's over there," he pointed to a nearby door, "and you should be able to find some dry clothes in that bedroom." Stepping back, he began making his way back down the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Kara called out, her voice sounding strange and unused.

He turned over his shoulder but didn't make eye contact. "I'm going to put up the cover on your truck, then I'll get changed down here." He paused for another moment, clearly weighing his words. "Might as well take your time. This storm doesn't look like it's going anywhere, and my guess is the road back to the highway is already flooded." Not saying anything else, he went down the stairs and back outside.

Kara turned, numb, and walked into the bathroom. Mechanically, she stripped off her wet clothes and wrapped a fresh towel around her, but she couldn't seem to get warm. She turned on the shower and stepped in, making the water as hot as she could stand it, filling up the entire the room with steam. She laid her against the tile wall and closed her eyes.

_No._ She wasn't going to think about what she'd done. Not right now. Sucking in the warm wet air, she grabbed soap and shampoo and got to work. When she ran out of things to clean, she just sank to the bottom of the stall, knees drawn up, head on her forearms, and let the water wash over her. She sat there for gods knew how long, until her skin was bright pink and puckered and she counted the tiles on the floor at least twice before turning off the spray and crawling out. Feeling warmer if not better, she quickly dried off and wandered into the adjoining bedroom Lee had indicated.

She found an oversize sweatshirt in the closet; she didn't have the drive or the energy to look for anything else. Instead she sat on the bed, staring at the door.

_No. Not yet._ She just wasn't ready to face him right now. Didn't know what the hell she would say if she did. Instead, fatigue from the past three nights began to catch up with her, and she ended up curling into a tight ball in the middle of the bed.

Within moments, she was asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~

Lee's fingers worked quickly to secure the canvas top on Kara's vehicle, but his mind was light years away as the realization of what he'd done came crashing down around him.

He needed to find a way to say goodbye.

It should be simple enough. Just grab his bag and leave. To hell with the roads. He deserved to get stuck out in the storm after what he'd done. Just walk out the door and out of her life. It'd be much easier for everyone this way.

He was so emotionally spent from the last few days that his mind finally just stopped processing all the guilt and pain. All he knew was that he'd done something that couldn't be made right; something that he couldn't ever take back.

The only honorable thing left to do was go.

He came back inside, shedding clothes and taking a towel from the first floor bathroom. He grabbed his duffel, still sitting in the kitchen, and dug around until he found a dry pair of pants. Slipping them on, he paced about the room, trying to figure out what to do. He heard the water cut off upstairs, heard her footsteps in the spare bedroom and then… nothing. He waited, bracing himself for when she came down, for the inevitable conversation, confrontation, whatever.

An hour passed, and then two. Finally, he got worried enough to go up. He tried the bedroom door. It was unlocked. There she was, curled up in the middle, looking every bit the lost little girl he'd always suspected was underneath all that Starbuck bravado. His heart clenched and he fought down a nearly overwhelming urge to take her into his arms and hold her until it was all ok again.

He shook his head. As if he could ever make it all right.

So instead he did the next best thing—he grabbed a nearby quilt and carefully draped it over her, then stepped out and softly closed the door behind him.

He went back downstairs.

This was the perfect opportunity, he thought. He could leave her a note, get the hell out of here before she woke up and just ….

_What? Keep running? Leave everything behind?_ He didn't know, and it shouldn't matter. He just needed to walk away.

But he didn't. He took out a pen and sheet of paper and just stared at it. What should he say? What could possibly make things ok again? He grabbed a glass and a bottle of ambrosia from the cabinet. One drink didn't inspire, so maybe three would. He felt warmer, the tension in his shoulders eased just the slightest bit, but the page remained blank.

Eventually, he just took the bottle and the paper with him into the study. Instead of writing though, he just sat down on the piano bench.

Staring at the keys, he took one shot, and then another. He needed to find a way to leave.

Trouble was, he didn't want to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kara woke up to the sound of the rain thrumming against the window. And music. She heard the faint sounds of a piano somewhere below. She turned over, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness, taking in the surroundings. She hadn't paid much attention to anything when she'd gotten out of the shower earlier. Now she looked around the room for the first time.

She lay in an iron bed, something that looked like it had been made centuries ago. Solid and sturdy and impossibly old. Like a relic out of some ancient Gemenese farmhouse. There was a single window to her left. The curtains had been left open and she could see the trees bending in the wind and the water sliding down the large pane of glass, highlighted by the occasional lightning strike. The room was sparsely furnished—a chair in the corner and a small dresser were the only other inhabitants.

But the walls, the walls were another story. They were covered, filled to the brim with framed photographs and awards and medals. At first, she thought they must belong to Joe Adama—the guy was pretty famous, after all—but she caught a glimpse of some framed sheets of music and a picture of a young boy sitting at a piano and realized that these were all Lee's. Someone had taken a lot of time and trouble to record every triumph of his from an early age. He'd probably hated it, she mused.

She sat up, legs tangling in a well-worn quilt as she did. This wasn't there earlier; she'd fallen asleep on top of the bed. Someone had taken the trouble to cover her up during the night. No point in guessing who.

She looked over at a nearby picture. He must have been ten or eleven. He was holding some kind of award, standing next to some conductor in front of an orchestra. Though the face was much younger, the expression was so familiar. Guarded, protected. Carrying around the weight of the world. He'd always been doing that, she realized. He did it still.

_No more delays_, she told herself. _Stop stalling_. Better to do this now before she lost her nerve. If she didn't face him soon, there was good chance she might stay locked in this bedroom an entire week before coming out. A siege looked pretty damn tempting right about now.

The air had become cooler, so she took the quilt with her, wrapping it around her shoulders until only a corner trailed on the floor behind her. She opened the door to find the hallway dark and quiet. Feeling her way down the stairs, she saw a dim light coming from the kitchen area. A candle had been left burning on the island, but there was no one there. None of the electrical devices seemed to be working, so she guessed that the power must have gone out at some point. She followed the sound of the music to a door past the sitting area, near the front of the house. It was closed, but she opened it silently, pausing to take in the sight.

Shirtless, shoeless, clad only in a pair of well-worn BDU's, he sat at the large piano. The piece he played was beautiful, familiar. Sad. She leaned against the doorframe and simply watched him—the way the light of the single candle played over his arms and shoulders, the contrast of his profile in shadow and light, the sadness in his eyes, the weight in his movements.

She'd suspected early on that he'd protected Zak from a young age, that he'd fallen on the grenade long ago to give his brother a better chance. And somehow she knew, when it came down to it—he would do it again. She felt her heart break just a little.

As if reading her thoughts, he stopped and turned around. Searching for the tiniest bit of levity, Kara gave her best half-hearted effort at a joke. "Trouble sleeping?"

He looked down, a faint smile forming on his lips that didn't meet his eyes. "You could say that." He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Seems to be developing into a habit."

She stepped into the room, looking for a place to sit. The sofa was covered with paper and she halted, searching for another chair. Seeing her hesitation, Lee slid over to the edge the bench and motioned to the opposite side. "Sit here if you want."

Awkwardly, she perched on the edge of the wooden bench, being careful not to touch him. She struggled to find something to say and blurted out the first thing in her mind.

"Finish what you were playing."

His eyebrows rose, as if that were the last thing he expected to hear.

"Please," she amended.

He complied, resuming the piece he's been playing minutes before, letting the somber tune build to something dark and haunting. It all seemed so dire, but the lilt of the melody and the softness of the music calmed her. It took her back to one of the few good memories of her childhood, and she felt her shoulders ease just a bit.

The piece continued, drawing out slowly to the end, finishing with an unexpected bit of hopefulness before the instrument went silent. Neither of them spoke for a long time.

"Play me something else," she whispered.

Without looking at her, he nodded, and his fingers began moving again. He reached across her to trace a soprano melody with his fingers, as his left hand began a series of broken moving chords that rumbled up from the bass and baritone range. Her breath caught, and before she knew what she was doing, her right hand began to play the soprano's countermelody, dipping and winding through the first phrase as if she'd done it a million times before.

Lee stopped suddenly, his eyes wide with surprise. "How did you do that?"

"I—" Kara stopped. "I don't know," she stammered, as surprised as he was. "My dad, he used to play. When I was little I'd sit next to him for hours. I must—must've remembered that song." She looked down at her hands and then up at him. "Can we try it again?"

"Ok," Lee nodded, eyes still wide in disbelief. "You start."

Shaking, her hand traced the first notes of the melody, and he brought the lower tones in to accompany her. Soon, she forgot her anxiety and just lost herself in the music, her hand responding automatically, remembering things long forgotten. They played together beautifully, fingers moving together in a flawless dance, and Kara watched it all as if she were observing another person entirely. As with flying, as with everything else, she anticipated his moves and he hers; so much so that the pace took on a life of its own, spinning and tumbling and weaving between major and minor notes, diminished sevenths and major thirds. The final notes slowed, lingered, dipping into a beautiful wave of longing before finishing on the dominant major chord. Their hands stilled.

"Kara …" his voice was awed. "How the hell did you know that? That piece is ancient, one of Bollare's oldest ones, and obscure—gods, most professional musicians don't even know—"

"I can't explain it. I mean, I must have heard it years ago, but I'd forgotten. Then you played it and … I just knew," she finished softly.

_She just knew._ The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. They were the same. Him and her. Different sides of the same coin—nothing like in appearance or manner, but deep down… exactly the same. She'd known it in her bones since the day in her apartment when she'd first seen him play. The way he'd reacted to her paintings. The way he'd looked at her.

_You know what that's like? To want that?_

_Yeah, I know._

The world felt like it was spinning out of control as she met his eyes again.

She was in love with Lee Adama.

Her expression must have alarmed him because he jumped right into the topic they'd been carefully avoiding. "I'm sorry, Kara," he began. "What happened earlier—what I did was… unforgivable. I—I can't offer any explanation other than to say it completely and totally wrong, and I apologize."

It took her a second to find her voice. "I … don't want your apology."

"Well, you have it all the same."

"Lee—" she began.

"I understand if you don't ever want to see or talk to me again, and that's fine—I don't blame you. And I promise, I'll get out of your way just as soon as I can and you or Zak don't ever have to deal with me again. I'm just—gods, I'm so sorry." He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehand; every muscle seemed strained, poised to snap.

Kara tentatively reached out and put an arm on his shoulder. "Stop taking all the blame for this. You weren't the only one involved, ok?"

"But the way I acted—"

"Look," she was starting to get a bit annoyed. "I obviously wanted it just as much, or it never would have happened. And besides," she continued quietly, "I don't want your apology."

"How can you say that? After what I did—"

"Lee," she continued, voice louder. "I—don't—want—your—apology," she repeated, stopping on each word for emphasis.

"Why?" His face was bewildered, incredulous.

"Because I'm not sorry," she whispered.

His eyes grew wide. She had his full attention now.

"It was wrong," she quickly interjected, breaking the contact and retreating to the edge of the bench, "—of course it was—I know. I can't even count how many different frakking ways it was wrong." She turned her head away, not brave enough to make eye contact. "But I wanted it. Just as much as you. From just about the first minute I saw you, in fact."

"But…" he seemed to be scrambling for the words. "Kara, we can't—"

"Can't what?" she stood up. "Can't tell the truth? Don't we owe that to each other? To Zak?" she finished quietly.

"Zak," he repeated, throwing a leg over the bench and gripping the sides with white knuckles. "Gods," he said, talking more to himself than to her, "I should have never come down, never accepted the mission. If I hadn't come between you—"

"What? My life would be a fairytale? I'd be happily engaged?" she raked a hand through her hair. Gods, it was so difficult to actually say out loud. "Lee," she began softly, "I had already made up my mind to tell him no. He proposed on impulse and I'm in not ready to get married. I mean, I care for him…" she trailed off and her eyes suddenly felt wet. "But this was never part of my plans."

She took a deep breath. Might as well get it all out there. "What Zak did—it was for the wrong reasons. He told me it was because he felt like things were changing between us. Like I was slipping away."

Lee's face paled, but she stopped whatever he was going to say with an outstretched hand.

"The point is this," she continued. "You once said you cared about me." She closed her eyes and concentrated on getting the words out. "And now I'm telling you that I feel the same."

The silence that followed was overwhelming, with the only sounds coming from the rain outside.

"You… feel the same?" he finally responded, sounding dazed.

She nodded.

"You—feel—the same," he repeated to himself, voice becoming stronger, and a wave of pure happiness washed across his face. For a moment, he looked as if he might spring off the bench and pounce on her. A split second later, though, he'd reined in all the emotion, a darkness clouding his features.

"We can't," he said flatly.

"What do you mean we can't? We just said we _did_," Kara finished, exasperated.

Lee stood up and began pacing this time, ending up in front of the window. "But we can't do this to Zak." He braced his arms against the windowframe, staring out into the storm. "Gods, he's my brother. I could never hurt him like that."

Even standing in the middle of the night confessing her feelings, he still made her crazy. "But we already did!" She pointed outside. "What happened out there, earlier? You think that's not gonna hurt him?" It was cruel, but it had to be said.

He visibly cringed, and she could see the muscles in his jaw tighten even in the dim light. He kept his eyes straight ahead.

Kara plunked her head against the doorframe and looked at the ground. "I don't want to hurt him either," she said quietly. "But he deserves better than this. Better than me," she clarified. His head shot up at that and it seemed as if he wanted to take a step toward her, but she stopped him with a look. "He deserves someone who loves him and only him. Marrying him will just frak up his life and mine—and yours, too." The tears stung her eyes and she angrily rubbed the away with the back of her hand. "Because whatever it is between us—it's not going away. I thought it would—hell, I prayed it would. But it's still here. I'm still here—and so are you."

"But … how…?" he couldn't seem to form the words.

"I don't know," she answered the unspoken question. "I have no frakking clue. I just know I'm tired of running."

The silence stretched for so long that Kara figured she had her answer. Whatever he might feel—whatever it was between them, he was willing to walk away. Be the good brother, do the right thing, deny himself. Of course. She'd always known this. It's who he was. It was right, but the thought made her so sad inside.

She turned and walked away. Through the dark kitchen and out onto the back porch. It was still dark, but she could hear the rain coming down and feel the spray from the wind on her face. She walked to the edge, staring out into the darkness and crossed her arms tightly, as if putting enough pressure there would stop the ache.

Kara didn't hear him at first—just felt hands slipping around her waist, followed by arms wrapping themselves around her. He buried his face in the side of her neck. Kara leaned back into the embrace. Her eyes felt a little too wet and so she closed them tightly, savoring the contact as long as she could before speaking.

"Come to say goodbye?" she whispered with a half-hearted laugh.

He just wrapped his arms around her more tightly, pulling her back flush against his chest. She could feel his heart beating. Instead of responding, he just let out a long sigh and rested his forehead on her shoulder.

_Ok then, _she thought._ This is it. _She bit her lip. _Of course. I__t's the right thing to do._ A tear slipped down her cheek and she choked down what felt like a million more.

"Okay," she murmured, not trusting her voice to stay steady. Taking a deep breath she nodded. "Okay." She started to pull away, but his arms wouldn't budge. Instead, he pulled her even closer. They stayed that way for an impossibly long time.

_  
"No."_

The word was a mere breath, but it damn near stopped her heart from beating. She froze.

"No," he repeated, and the word became stronger, more determined. "Not yet. We're not letting go of this." He pressed his lips against her ear. "Not yet."

**_.......to be continued......._**_**  
**_


	11. Chapter 11

**Borrowed Time** K/L pre-mini fic (chapter 11/13)  
**Rating:** still M  
**Word Count:** ~3,500  
**Spoilers: **Through the mini-series.  
**Disclaimer: **It all belongs to RDM & Co.

**  
****Author's Note****:**_**  
**__**Kittens and rainbows … and pilots.**__**  
**_

Chapter 11

_"We're not letting go of this. Not yet."_

Lee breathed the words against her neck and felt Kara arch against him. His lips kept moving, and every other thought paled in comparison to_ Yes. Here. Now._

He released his grip around her waist just long enough to turn her around to face him. His lips roamed everywhere—her eyes, her cheeks, the crease of her smile. Soon their mouths were tangled together, hands on faces, fingers running through hair and over shoulders and skimming down arms. Everything they'd held back seemed to break forth all at once, and the world became a blur of sensation and texture.

Minutes later—or hours, he honestly wasn't sure—he realized they were moving. Mouths not leaving each other, they somehow got their feet heading back inside. Flying blind had its downside though, and it wasn't too long before he stumbled backwards into the door. They staggered into the kitchen, barely missing the stove and slowing down just enough before slamming into the island and nearly knocking over the candle that still burned there.

His hands traced dips and curves and hills and valleys through the thin sweatshirt she wore. Her hands did the same to every bit of exposed skin she could find—which was quite a lot. Lee nearly lost his balance again as she pressed him backwards and sent him tumbling into the fridge. She followed right behind though, and he soon forgot the impact of his skull against the cold metal once her mouth went to work on his chest. As good as it felt, he decided that twenty-two seconds was far too long for their lips to be apart. He brought her face back to his, stepping forward until he had her backed up against the island.

Good gods, a dim corner of his brain thought, he could kiss this woman forever. It was like their mouths and bodies had a language that made words completely unnecessary. The pressure of her fingers, the scrape of her nails against his shoulders—not too delicate, not too harsh. The way her thigh found its way around his hip as if that was its sole purpose in life. The way she tasted; the way she felt. Completely and utterly perfect.

He was halfway toward getting her out of that damnable sweatshirt when he felt hands sharply pressing against his chest, replacing their wordless conversation with something far too audible.

"Wait—" she gasped, breaking her lips away from his. "Talk—_Talk._ Right now we talk."

The words didn't quite register and Lee became easily distracted with the impossibly soft skin at the base of her throat. It wasn't until she rolled out from under him and scurried over to the opposite side of the stone counter was he actually able to pay attention.

"Lee? _Lee!_" Kara's arms were stretched out on either side of her, holding her up as she tried to catch her breath. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled and her lips—oh gods, her lips were pink and full and about the most godsdamned delicious thing he'd ever seen.

Talking was highly overrated, he decided, and started towards her.

"No!" she yelped, and hurried to the opposite side until they were facing each other again. "Dammit, Lee—if we don't stop and talk about this—_think_ about this—we'll end up exactly where we were six hours ago."

Those words stopped him mid-stride, and he suddenly remembered that this wasn't simple. And it wasn't going to be easy. He nodded and stepped back; completely at a loss for words until years of polite training kicked in.

"Coffee?"

~~~~vvvvvv~~~~~vvvvvv~~~~~

"Okay," Kara began a few minutes later, steaming mug in hand. They sat on opposite sides of the kitchen table. Not touching, but not too far away. The dawn had begun to break outside, but the rain continued. "We're gonna talk." She paused, her face full of misgivings. "Right." She opened her mouth and then closed it. Took a deep breath, her shoulders rising and tried again. No words came out. Kara exhaled hard, lips pursing as she blew out the air in frustration.

"Gods," she raked a hand through her hair, making it stand up in all kinds of directions. "You think they give out awards for being this frakked up?"

He just gave her a sad half smile.

"What are we gonna do?" The words came out somewhere between a groan and a whisper.

"The truth," Lee responded automatically. "We've got to tell him the truth."

Kara stayed quiet for a long moment before shaking her head. "No, we can't. It would kill him, and he'd never forgive you, Lee. Never. This is one time where coming clean is not the best option.

"What then?" He knit his brows together as all the fears and doubts about this being real began to creep in. "We pretend like this didn't happen?"

"No—"she sounded startled. "Gods, no. It's just—things aren't always so black and white." She leaned back and crossed her arms, concentrating on the floor. "All I'm saying is that there's got to be a way to do this where you don't end up losing your brother," she said softly.

"What about you?"

She kept her eyes down and her voice soft. "He's gonna hate me no matter what. At least for a while. I'm going to be the evil bitch who broke his heart and there's no getting around that."

"Come on, Kara," he began. "There's no way he could hate you."

She just gave him a disbelieving look and took a deep breath before continuing. "But he's graduated now, and he should be getting a post soon. Off-world hopefully."

"So … he'll have distance. That's a start."

"And time," she said. "He'll need time."

The implication of her words hit him and he suddenly saw the way things would have to play out. "I'm not gonna see you for a while, am I?"

"No," she agreed. "I guess not."

He stayed silent. It hurt so much to think that they had to walk away from everything between them—especially now, when it had barely begun—but it was the only way. Whatever chance they had, it couldn't start like this.

"How long?"

She shook her head. "Six months? A year? I don't know. Until it doesn't feel so godsdamned wrong, I guess."

They both sat there, lost in their thoughts for several minutes before either spoke again. _They had to go their separate ways. _What this it? A handful of hours to spend with her before gods knew when he'd see her again. Be able to hold her again. It wasn't enough…unless---

"The roads," Lee blurted suddenly and Kara looked up, confused. "I'm pretty sure you're stuck here for at least another couple of days until they dry out."

Something flickered in her eyes and he knew she was thinking the same thing he was. Just like when they were flying, she had that uncanny ability to anticipate his moves. Her gaze flicked down to the table and she set down her cup slowly, absently tracing the edge. "Maybe …" she paused, eyes averted, almost like she was afraid to say the words out loud. "Maybe that's not such a bad thing. Zak won't be back until next week, so I can't do anything until then. This gives us a little time together before…."

A voice deep down said any time they spent together now would only make the parting worse, that it wasn't fair to Zak, but he ignored it. It was unbelievably selfish, but he wouldn't let himself care. His mind was already made up.

"Alright," he said, reaching across the table to cover her hand with his own.

~~~~vvvvvv~~~~~vvvvvv~~~~~

It was a terrible idea.

No really, it was. Spending three nights under the same roof with a man she could barely keep her hands off of when they'd agreed not to pursue anything resembling a relationship until gods knew when. Just frakking brilliant.

Kara figured she was just a sucker for punishment. All that good, old-fashioned polytheistic guilt had to come out somewhere she supposed.

And even worse? She didn't care. Well, she did—she'd never meant to hurt Zak—but the deed was done. And she couldn't walk away from this, not yet. Deep down, she wanted this time together. Every time she thought about leaving, she literally felt an ache in her chest—like if she left, a piece of her would suddenly go missing.

Best not to think about it too much.

She'd stay through the weekend until it was safe to travel back and break the news to Zak. They'd stay in the same house. Spend time together. But no sex, they agreed. Nothing that even resembled sex. It was just too much of a betrayal.

Easier said than done, they soon discovered. It took five minutes on the sofa before her tongue was down his throat and she had straddled his hips, with his hands palming her breasts through the thin material of her shirt. A couple more seconds before they realized what they were doing and snapped away from each other, retreating to opposite ends of the couch, panting and staring with wide, lust-clouded eyes.

Lee was the first to break the silence. "Frak."

Kara sighed. "Almost."

He grimaced. "We need a Plan B."

She nodded, still trying to catch her breath. And with that, their little dance began.

~~~~vvvvvv~~~~~vvvvvv~~~~~

Lee couldn't help but grin. Gods, she had to be just about the worst cook he'd ever seen. With the power out, breakfast had turned into quite an adventure. Kara had pulled out most everything in the fridge, insisting that it would go to waste if they didn't cook it now. Thankfully, the gas stove still worked.

She was perched on the counter, flour smeared across her face, tongue caught firmly between her lips, giving the pan in front of her the concentration reserved for an inverted Virgon feint into a double barrel roll.

"DAMMIT!" she finally yelled after the third burned pancake. She gave Lee a threatening look. "I swear to gods this stove is defective. _What?_" she looked at him with mock outrage. "I can do this in my sleep, Apollo."

He just gave her a solemn nod, trying not to crack a smile and failing miserably.

She threw up her hands. "Fine. You wanna give it a shot? Go for it."

He swiped a finger into the batter, licked it, and cringed. "Okay, that's it. We're starting over."

She crossed her arms in feigned annoyance. "Think you can do better?"

He just cocked an eyebrow. "Amateurs," he said shaking his head mournfully.

Thirty minutes later, he'd prepared bacon, sausage, scones, omelettes, and yes—pancakes. Kara dug into her plate as if she'd never seen food before, but all he could get was an appreciative grunt. Finally putting down her fork and napkin, she looked back over.

"Not bad, flyboy." Lee grinned, but she wasn't done yet. "You realize you're cooking from now on, right?"

~~~~vvvvvv~~~~~vvvvvv~~~~~

"You're seriously gonna teach me to fish?"

They stood on the pier overlooking the lake, rods in hand. The rain had stopped, but the sky remained firmly overcast.

Lee shrugged. "Well I figured since you aren't gonna be the resident chef, you could at least help out with the hunting and gathering."

"Please," Kara drawled. "There's still enough food in the pantry to keep us alive through next winter. This is ridiculous," she said as she moved to put her pole down, but Lee intercepted it and straightened her line back over the water.

"Just hold still. This is good for you." Kara let a few choice expletives fly, but Lee stopped her with a hand to her lips. "Sssshhh. You'll scare away the fish," he said with an irritating wink and a mock whisper.

"This is like summer camp from hell," she muttered.

He just smiled.

The next half hour passed without incident, with Lee droning on in reverential tones about the beauty of fishing and the majestic nature of the trout. He had launched into a speech on the sacred privilege of communing with nature when Kara couldn't stand it anymore.

"And some say that rainbow trout and brown trout really aren't any different but that's a common misconception. Actually— Wha… _KARA!_" he yelped as she drove her shoulder into his stomach and launched them both off the pier and into the lake.

They came up for air in the murky water, kicking and thrashing, arms and legs tangled in fishing line, poles floating on either side.

"What the hell was that for?" he shouted.

"What?" Kara looked dismayed. "You didn't see it? Gosh, that must have been one helluva trout!" she exclaimed. "Pulled you clean off the pier."

The unflappable, cool-as-as-cucumber Lee Adama faded before her very eyes as he sputtered and stared at her with his mouth open. It only took him seconds to recover. "Oh, you are dead, Thrace!" he said, lunging for her.

She laughed and disappeared under the water.

~~~~vvvvvv~~~~~vvvvvv~~~~~

"Your calculations are wrong, Apollo."

"What?" Lee sat up from where he'd been sunning on the old blanket and quickly leaned over where Kara was pouring over his draft report of their mission flight test. After the failed fishing expedition, the sun had decided to come out. They took advantage, spreading a blanket over the damp grass and removing just enough wet clothing to try and dry out again. Lee had almost forgotten that he'd brought the reports with him until Kara mentioned something about not missing paperwork. He looked down at the offending equation.

"What do you mean it's wrong? I double and triple checked that thing. It's perfect," he muttered, rolling over to lay on his stomach. "Much like myself."

"Perfect my ass," Kara chuckled. "You forgot to add in the variable for changes in wind direction.

"Page two," he mumbled, not bothering to turn his head where it rested on his arms.

There was silence for a moment, followed by. "Oh. Okay. Well, maybe not completely wrong."

"You'll spoil me with flattery like that, Starbuck."

She went quiet for several minutes, and Lee had almost fallen asleep, just enjoying the sunlight on the skin of his back, when he felt an odd scraping sensation. It took him a few moments before the sight of Kara kneeling over him with a ballpoint pen registered.

He rolled over. "What in gods' names are you doing?"

"Just mapping some star charts."

"On my _back_?"

She let out a very un-Starbuck like giggle. "Well, you said it yourself, Lee Adama—you _are_ perfect. Right down to the freckles on your back. So far I've found Eqquis, Persephone, and I even think I spotted the Minotaur on your left shoulder blade—eeeep!"

Kara shrieked and dissolved into laughter as Lee went to work on sides, tickling her until they tumbled several feet down the hillside, scooting and sliding across the damp grass. Eventually they stopped to catch their breath and realized that his chest was pressed against hers—she'd removed her shirt and was wearing only a bra in an attempt to dry off. Soon tickling fingers stilled—hands gripped and arms wound around torsos until there wasn't an inch between them. Kara was lying on top of him, looking down at him with a longing that went straight to his groin. Without hesitating, he leaned up and kissed her deeply. They continued to roll in the grass at a much slower pace, tasting and teasing and stealing breaths until they finally lay still, exhausted and tangled together, bodies warmed by the sun and each other.

~~~~vvvvvv~~~~~vvvvvv~~~~~

"Oh gods—"

"I'm sorry—"

Strong hands gripped her upper arms for balance and she struggled to hold up the towel wrapped loosely around her. Kara tried to look anywhere except the considerable amount of warm, wet skin directly in front of her as they both tried to shift out of the other's way.

It wasn't working. On multiple levels. The hallway was only about four feet wide, and they kept moving in the same direction, trying to get past each other but only succeeding in blocking the other's path. Before long, Kara just gave up, focusing instead on how the beads of water trailed over his chest and down his godsdamn mouthwatering stomach before disappearing under a too-short towel that was clinging to his hips in all kinds of wicked ways.

_Frak me._ He must have given her all the regular-sized towels. She said a quick prayer to the gods, thanking them that chivalry wasn't dead.

"I uh, was just going to get some … clothes." His voice trailed off at the same time his eyes left her face and became fixed on a spot below her throat. Specifically, a breast that was barely being covered by her loose towel. She could have sworn she saw his tongue dart out and lick his lower lip.

"Me too," she added a beat too late, struggling to make eye contract when all she wanted to do was check out the not-so-great coverage of that frakking towel again.

"So… nice shower?" he finished lamely.

"Hot," she blurted out. "It was really…" her gaze faltered, sliding down his throat, "very…," and down the crease of his chest, "... hot." The last word came out like a squeak as her eyes followed the thin line of hair down to the towel's edge before snapping back up to his then away.

He slid to her right and inched his way down the wall, eyes fighting between focusing on her lips and her chest at any given moment.

"I'll just…"

"Yeah… me too."

She slid down the opposite wall, one hand holding up her towel, the other groping along the chair rail for support—and also to keep from flinging herself across the space between them so she could find out what the hollow of his hip tasted like. Finding the doorknob, she turned it and backed into her room.

With a deep breath, Kara closed the door behind her and leaned against it. _Shit._ Now she needed another shower. A cold one.

~~~~vvvvvv~~~~~vvvvvv~~~~~

"Again."

Lee hid a smile. "You know, it's really not that romantic when you keep demanding I play the same song over and over."

"But I like that one."

Kara was wrapped in quilts, so much so that only her nose and eyes were visible. The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed; it was midnight. The temp had dropped after the rain moved out, and with the power still out, the warmest place in the house was in front of the fireplace in the study. She looked ridiculous—like some sort of patchwork Libran mummy tucked away on the old sofa. But he could tell she was smiling from the way her eyes crinkled, and he couldn't resist that smile.

Lee played the nocturne she liked so much again, fingers slipping over the notes softly, the peaceful melody transforming the room into something infinitely warm and comforting … and beautiful. That piece was one of his favorites too.

His fingers stilled, but the room remained quiet. He turned and saw her asleep on the sofa, head propped up on the end, eyes closed, lips at rest. Perfectly at peace. He stayed there, just watching her, until he nearly fell asleep himself. Finally, he got up and made his way to the door.

"What are you doing?" A scratchy voice called out.

"Going to bed."

"Upstairs?"

"Well … yeah. That's where my bed is."

"That's silly—it's warmer down here. You need to stay."

"Kara, I don't think there's room on the floor—"

She gave him a sleepy laugh. "Don't be ridiculous. I think I could spare at least half a quilt for you."

"Such kindness." The softness in his eyes belied the playfulness in his voice, and he pushed a few stray hairs off her forehead. Even trussed up and ready for a snowstorm she looked so at home there.

"You sure it's okay?" he asked hesitantly.

"Get over here and warm up. Don't worry," she yawned. "I'm too sleepy to try and besmirch your honor. Your virtue is safe for now."

He stretched out along the back of the couch, tucking himself around her until his body wrapped around hers and her head rested just under his chin. "And you're not worried that I might have evil plans concerning your virtue?" he breathed into her ear.

"Oh, I know you do," she said matter-of-factly. "But I don't care. I'm hopelessly addicted now. No turning back for me." She leaned up and placed a sleepy kiss on his jaw.

_Me either_, he thought. And for the first time in what felt like years, Lee Adama fell asleep with a smile on his face.

_….. to be continued….._


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Blinking awake in the dim light, Kara turned and snuggled against the body next to hers. She was far from awake but still conscious enough to appreciate the warm wall of muscle pressed against her from head to toe. She breathed in deeply and moved closer so could nuzzle against the heated skin of his neck. Vaguely, she registered that the dawn was starting to break, but the embers in the fireplace still bathed the study in a warm orange glow, barely giving off enough light to see Lee stretched out beside her on the sofa. She must have worked her way out of the layers of quilts she'd been bundled up in during the night, most of them having fallen to the floor.

Not thinking, just taking, she pressed a kiss to the hollow at the base of his throat, the cords that stretched tautly up to his jaw, his Adam's apple, the patch of skin just below his earlobe. The more she touched with her lips, the more she wanted to touch. Soon, her hands got into the act as well, arms twining about his neck, fingers running through his hair. She wound a leg up and over his hip, pulling forward with her calf until his hips pressed tightly against her. She could feel the lower parts of his anatomy fully at attention and straining against her waist.

He let out a low groan and pulled her tight against him, head dipping to find her lips even though his eyes were still closed. Kara closed her eyes as well, concentrating only on the movement of her mouth against his, the rhythm of his breathing, the silky scrape of his tongue against hers.

~~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lee was having one hell of a dream.

He was back in the sims room at the Academy, on the second day they met. The first day they flew together. Panting, she stared back at him from the gleaming metal she leaned against, her eyes daring him to come and get her.

And he did.

Fingers tangling in her short hair, lips closing over hers, bodies pressed against each other. No waiting. No hesitation.

His hands roamed freely across her body, struggling to get her out of those damnable clothes, to press skin to skin. He'd never wanted anyone so much in his entire godsdamn life. He wrapped his arms around her and pushed them both against the side of the sims chamber. Pulling her up against him, he shifted until she was wrapped around him. He pushed forward, straining until—

They lost their balance and went tumbling to the floor and he somehow knocked his head against the metal undercarriage.

No wait, not metal …. stone.

Slowly he opened his eyes. He was lying on his back, in the middle of the library floor with his head jammed up against the flagstone hearth. A wide-awake Kara was sprawled on top of him. At some point during their exertions, they'd flipped off the sofa and onto the floor, with almost all of them landing on the pillows and blankets scattered about—except for the back of his head, which seemed to have made excellent contact with the edge of the fireplace. He reached back to trace the spot, searching for the warm wetness that would tell him he'd just managed to crack his skull open whilst in the throes of a wet dream.

No blood. Good. Just a quickly forming lump and an even swifter headache.

As if perfectly on cue, a thunderclap shook the ground and the rain began to pour.

"Oh—gods—sorry," he stammered. "Wasn't—quite—awake." Moving faster than absolutely necessary, he quickly shimmied out from under her, depositing Kara in an almost-tumbled heap on the floor.

"Ice," he muttered as he started down the hall. "Need ice."

~~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Frak. Frak frak frak frak frak._

Kara splashed a handful of cold water against her face. If one could die of sexual frustration, she was pretty damn sure she was near the breaking point. One touch would lead to another which would lead to a caress which would lead to an embrace which would lead to a kiss which would lead to ten—and before they knew it they were well on their way to completely devouring each other.

They'd been trying so hard to keep to their earlier promise not to take things any further, but it was like trying to reverse the polarity on a couple of magnets. Kara knew they were about two days away from a complete meltdown. She'd never been very good at reigning in sexual desire—but this was so much worse than anything she could have imagined. She'd never felt this damn attracted to anyone in her life. The need to touch him, to taste him, to wrap her arms around him was more than a desire—it was practically a full-blown addiction.

Yet another thing that scared the hell out of her.

She splashed another handful of water on her face. She just needed a distraction, that was all.

Unfortunately, it was easier said than done. Being in close quarters with Lee frakking Adama was its own distraction, and not the right kind. Even the most innocuous encounter became charged. A tag-team attempt at the _Caprican Times_ weekend crossword puzzle ended in fight to control the one pencil they'd been able to locate—which of course led to them stretched across the kitchen table, clutching each other and panting. She ran her hands down the corded muscles of his forearms and suddenly wanted to use the surface of the old wooden table for an entirely different purpose.

Then they decided to take advantage of the weather and went for hike in the woods. Which inevitably turned into an impromptu running session which led to an all-out footrace that turned into a high speed game of chase amidst a makeshift obstacle course of fallen trees and low hanging branches. Kara was a little bit faster, but due to her old knee injury, she couldn't maneuver the trail's twists and turns as well as Lee could. It wasn't long before he caught up to her, both of them toppling to the ground in a tangle arms and legs and laughter. They rolled to a stop the middle of a damp bed of leaves, with Lee hovering over her, bracing on his arms to keep from covering her completely.

Instinctively, Kara licked her lips, and the words left her mouth before she even thought about it. "If you wanted to get me on my back, Lee, all you had to do was ask."

He blanched a bit but still managed to pause over her lips and she knew he was thinking about how much distance lay between them. He let out a shaky breath that she felt all the way down to her toes.

"Uh, yeah. Guess we should head back." But he didn't move. Instead he looked away for a second and paused, like he was thinking about something. Before Kara knew what had happened, he dipped his head down to the deep vee of her t-shirt and slowly traced his lips from the top of her breast up past her collarbone, skimming up neck before his teeth caught her earlobe with a soft, lingering bite.

"Sorry," he grinned, getting to his feet. "Couldn't resist."

Kara just lay there for a few seconds longer, pretty sure that her legs weren't going to support her weight if she tried to get up. She would swear to gods her ovaries were actually aching.

She closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath of her own.

"Frrrrrak."

~~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lee Adama might be a paragon, but he was no saint. Back in the woods he was two seconds away from saying to hell with everything, ripping off her clothes and taking her right there on the ground. As perfect and wonderful and damn near sublime as the past few days had been, there came a point where living with a beautiful woman was bound to frak with a man's resolve to take the high road. And if that woman was Kara Thrace, well, let's just say that trying to do the right thing became exponentially harder.

His hands moved absently over the vegetables in front him, slicing and chopping and cutting with efficient precision. A mindless effort perfected over years of practice. The motions were soothing, orderly. He tried to do the same with his thoughts.

He knew why they needed to stay away from each other, knew it on an intellectual level, the way he knew that that staying outside on a hot summer day would bring on a sunburn and that too much ambrosia would bring on a hangover. Fun for the moment, but hell to pay later. And if he and Kara gave in, they'd either regret it and hate themselves for not waiting or not be willing to separate or keep their distance once they got a taste of each other. Lee suspected it would probably be a lot of both.

But the more time he spent with her, the more the reasons started to fade. Thoughts of his brother still hovered in his the shadows of his consciousness, lingering like a half-remembered dream, but he was getting good at pushing those thoughts aside. His higher functions seemed to try and warn him, insist that he plunge himself back into guilt and despair, but he was tired of listening. He shut down the thoughts with a ruthlessness that surprised him. There would be plenty of time to feel guilty later—weeks and months and possibly years to look forward to. Of living without; being patient once again.

_This time was theirs_, he told himself fervently. Just the two of them. The world didn't exist right now. No Fleet, no Academy, no War College, no reality outside of his grandfather's old cabin.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a freshly showered Kara wandering into the kitchen. She was still running a towel over her hair, making it stand up in all kinds of ridiculously adorable ways. She'd taken to just wearing whatever the hell she found in his closet to bed, and tonight she'd settled on an old plaid flannel shirt and a pair of grey boxer shorts.

She looked good enough to eat. The knife he was holding almost slid out of his hand and he came millimeters away from sporting nine fingers instead of ten.

"Smells great," she said, propping her elbows up on the countertop. "So…" she began, resting her chin in her hand and looking up at him with far-too-innocent eyes. "What are we going to do this evening?"

What indeed.

~~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Full colors."

"Again? You've got to be kidding me," Lee groaned.

"Nope. No kidding here. Drink up, hotstuff."

Lee made a face before taking a shot, the ambrosia washing down the back of his throat and burning through his chest. He'd lost the last five rounds.

They sat in front of the fireplace, well past midnight, most of the contents of the bar strewn across the stone hearth. What started as a nightcap had turned into an all-night triad tournament. The storm had started again, and the darkness in the library was accented by the occasional lightning strike and rumble of thunder. The steady drum of the rain outside provided a soothing, if percussive, soundtrack.

Lee was irritable. His headache from this morning was starting to come back and his mind kept replaying what had happened earlier in the woods. They'd gone through about half the liquor in the house. The ambrosia was starting to drown out the cautionary voices in his head. Instead he felt restless, unsettled.

"How about we up the stakes?"

"Getting drunk isn't enough for you?" Kara grinned.

Lee couldn't say what possessed him. "We can keep taking shots. But next one who wins gets a round of truth or dare."

She pulled back for a moment, studying him. The gleam in her eyes shifted from consideration to amusement. "Why not?"

And of course, he had to lose the next round.

"Truth," he said immediately.

"Really? So easily?" she mocked. "Hmmm," she paused dramatically, taking a drink and looking around the room. "What to ask the great Apollo?"

Lee just rolled his eyes. "Oh just get on with it."

"Have you…" her voice trailed off and for a moment she seemed a bit shy. "Have you ever cheated before?" she asked quietly.

This was definitely not what he expected. Invasions of privacy, tell-all inquires about his sexual exploits maybe but… not this.

"No," he answered honestly. "I always swore I'd never do that. Hell, I used to despise people who did. I couldn't understand what could make someone fall so hard that they would just let go, throw everything away .…" his voice trailed off and he looked over at the fire.

"And now?" Kara spoke the words quietly.

"Now... I don't know what to think about anything anymore," he finally said.

Kara remained quiet.

Lee won the next round. "So—truth or dare?"

"Truth," she said without hesitation.

"Really?"

"What the hell? Since you were nice enough to get the ball rolling. Have at it."

"Okay," Lee paused, trying to think. "Have _you_ ever cheated?"

She looked away and traced the outline of her lower lip with the edge of a Tauron whiskey bottle. Lee was transfixed.

"A little, I guess—I dunno," she laughed nervously. "In high school, I never really bothered to put up with a steady boyfriend."

"And at the Academy?" he prompted.

"At the Academy it was pretty much the same. I never really had any intention of settling down with just one person—"

"Until Zak," he finished, his voice falling.

"Um—actually, no." She sounded startled. "As much as I care about him, getting serious never really crossed my mind."

"Not ever?" He was strangely relieved, but also disappointed in a way he couldn't quite explain.

She took another swig from the bottle. "No. Drunken proposals aside, it just wasn't something I'd considered with him—or with anyone for that matter." She paused, clearly weighing her next words carefully. "At least … not until I met certain War College viper jock with a big 'ole stick up his ass." Her face was a cross between a blush and a smirk. Lee was dumbfounded.

"You're serious?"

"Well, yeah," she answered matter-of-factly, then quickly recovered and began to shuffle the deck for another round. They played in silence. Lee won again.

"So, which one will it be?" he asked.

She gave him a long, steady look, still tracing the bottle against her lip. "Dare."

"Feeling adventurous?" There was an edge to his voice that he couldn't quite place. The fire inside him had gone from a low burn to a steady blaze.

"Maybe I'm just tired of talking." They remained silent for a few moments, eyes locked on each other, caught in some kind of struggle that couldn't be easily defined.

"You sure you want to do that?" he warned. "I might not have it in me to stick to the moral high road tonight."

She put down the bottle on the hearth and leaned in towards him. "I might not want you to," she whispered.

After what seemed like an endless silence, she continued. "So… what's it gonna be?"

Lee didn't even have to think about his answer. If he was cursed forever at that moment, he didn't care. He'd had enough. All the distance, the holding back—and all that godsdamn posturing when all he wanted to do was be close to her. He drowned out all the voices telling him this was terrible idea, and leaned forward, placing his hands on her bare thighs. He felt Kara jump but she quickly controlled the reaction and sat perfectly still. Not taking his eyes off hers, he slid forward underneath her shorts until his palms rested and the juncture of her hips, thumbs tracing the edge of her underwear across and down then back again. Their faces were inches apart, and he could hear her breath catch, but he suppressed the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. Just before his lips touched hers, he leaned to the side and pressed them to her ear instead.

"I'm going to make you come with just one kiss," he whispered.

Every muscle in her body froze. "We—we said no sex," she stammered.

"It's not sex."

"Like hell it's not."

He pulled back and looked at her. "If you tell me you don't want this, I'll stop right now, Kara."

He could see her fighting herself for just a second before the resolve broke. Her voice was barely audible as she slowly shook her head. "I don't want you to stop."

She studied him, eyes wide, just waiting to see what he was going to do next. Even under all the vulnerability, there was still a challenge there and a bit of wariness, as if she wasn't sure he was actually going to go through with this.

Kara sat cross-legged in front of him, but he needed to close the distance. Lee kept his face right in front of hers, his eyes locked on hers, and reached down to unwrap her legs and pull each one out beside him, pushing them apart as he shifted them to stretch them out on either side of his hips. Reaching around to grab her ass, he gave her a quick boost until they sat face to face. He placed one hand on her thigh again, rubbing the soft inner skin he'd just exposed but careful not to touch her anywhere else. His other hand caressed the top of her hair and slid down to the side of her face, absently playing with the hollow of her cheek and corner of her mouth. He saw her take a shallow breath and sink her teeth into her bottom lip and felt a wave of satisfaction. He moved his hand lower, dragging across the opening of the flannel shirt she wore, stopping to undo one more button until he could rest his palm against her heart, cupping half of her breast in the process. He let his fingers trace absent patterns over and under the edge of her bra, but the heel of his hand remained firm, pressed tight against her skin and tracking the beat of her heart.

The wariness in her eyes began to fade, replaced by glazed arousal. The challenge was still there though. Almost in slow motion, he saw Kara reach over to the stone hearth and dip her thumb into a half-filled glass of ambrosia. She then lifted her fingers until they rested on his cheek, feather light. Her thumb began to trace the curve of his lips—up, around and under, before starting all over again. He felt the heat of the alcohol sting the edges of his mouth at the same time he breathed in the scent: smoky, spicy and a little bit sweet. He was seconds away from capturing her finger in his mouth before she pulled away and did just that, sucking the liquid off her thumb and enjoying every damn drop. It was all he could do to lick his lips.

That was probably why he didn't notice at first when her other hand dipped down to rest against length of him through his sweatpants. This time it was his turn to forget to breathe.

And then their hands began to move.

At some point Lee realized he was holding his breath, at some point he realized that Kara's other hand was pressed tightly against his heart, and at some point he barely registered that their foreheads kept pressing together, skin sliding against skin as lips gracefully dodged each other—consuming flesh without actually taking. But none of that mattered compared to the realization that the challenge was gone. This was no longer a dare. The distance and the swagger and the closed off look in her eyes finally gave way to something else. She was seeing him. Feeling him. She was right there with him and the yearning he saw there bordered on pain.

Each matched the rhythm of the other until they were panting, shaking, covered in a sheen of sweat. He felt her body tense, saw her pupils dilate and her lips part and he grabbed the back of her head, pulling their mouths together in something that was more like a feast and less like a kiss. He closed his eyes tightly and felt—not heard but _felt_—her cry out, her body shaking with release just a second before his did the same. It was an endless kiss, lasting until all the last tremors were absorbed. Until arms were wound tight against bodies and left no space in between.

It felt like hours before either of them made a sound.

"I should be sorry," he breathed. "I should be, but I'm not." Kara sat there for a moment, not moving. Whatever she was thinking, Lee knew that she needed to process this by herself.

He pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I'm going to get cleaned up."

He carried a single candle into the downstairs bathroom, shrugged off his clothes and stepped into the warm spray. Bracing his arms against the cold tile, he let the water wash over him while he tried desperately not to think of all the reasons they shouldn't have done that.

But when he felt Kara step in behind him, when he felt her arms wrap around his chest and her lips trace kisses down the line of his shoulder, he forgot to care.

She slowly turned him around. "I'm not sorry either," she whispered, before pressing him against the wall and capturing his mouth with hers.

**_.... to be continued ...._**


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13  
************

Late morning sunlight flooded through the kitchen windows as Kara aimlessly stirred ingredients around in the mixing bowl. She'd woken up earlier tangled in crisp white sheets, a gorgeous, sound asleep man by her side. She was exhausted—and sore in places she wasn't even aware she could be sore in—but she was also bursting with energy. Slipping quietly out of bed, she'd pulled on her shorts and a t-shirt and padded downstairs.

She felt … indescribable. Everything felt brand new. She kept replaying the images from last night—Lee over her, under her, behind her, around her, in every way imaginable. There wasn't an inch of skin on her body that wasn't somehow discovered, tasted or marked by him. It was a strange feeling to feel so thoroughly examined and possessed by another human being—stranger still that she didn't seem to mind one bit.

Kara laughed to herself. For once, all the darkness seemed blotted out, no bad memory in sight. She supposed this is what honest-to-gods happiness felt like. It was something she could definitely get used to, she thought, bending down to slide a tray into the oven.

She felt a pair of arms circle her waist from behind.

"I thought this was my job." Lee's voice was rough and scratchy and perfect and sent shivers down her spine. His lips nuzzled the edge of her ear, frakking with her concentration.

She straightened and leaned back against him. "I figured after last night, you needed your rest. But don't worry," she grinned. "This is just a one-time offer. And it's definitely not homemade. I found a package of blueberry muffin mix." She turned around and dusted him on the nose with a bit of flour. "Thought it might be a good idea to keep up your strength."

"Oh really?" He wiped off the flour with a smile and began nibbling along the edge of her jaw, the scrape of his stubble making her stomach flip. "I think I'm hungry for something else entirely," he murmured.

Of course he hadn't bothered to put a shirt on before he'd come downstairs. Instead he was half naked and rumpled and beautiful, an old pair of sweatpants slung low across his hips. The heat of his body and the feel of his skin made Kara's hands automatically start to wander, sliding down his chest and across his stomach to rest on the ridges of his hips.

She dodged his eager mouth and backed up against the counter. "You know you shouldn't snack between meals," she teased.

He placed his hands on her hips and lifted her up to sit on the counter. "Problem is…" he responded, hands wandering up the sides of her shirt. "I just can't seem to get enough." He kissed her, slow and deep, taking his sweet time to explore every last corner of her mouth. Lightheaded, Kara wrapped her legs around his waist and wound her fingers through his hair, pulling him even closer.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to work on that, won't we?" She smiled against his lips.

"I guess so," he replied. "Oh—and Kara?" he said seriously.

"What?"

"Hang on."

She yelped as he lifted her off the countertop, spinning her around the room, followed up by a few undignified giggles. He pressed her up against the side of the kitchen cabinets before searching for more stable territory, moving over to the fridge and then the sliding glass door leading outside—kissing her senseless all the while. Finally Lee spun her back around, bracing her against the wall so his lips could break contact with hers long enough to latch on to the base of her throat while his hand worked its way up to cup her breast. Kara bit back a groan and leaned into him.

The phone rang.

"Gods," Lee muttered. "Who the hell could that be?"

Kara laughed. "Probably Tiller wanting to know where the frak his black ops report is."

It rang again.

"Shit." Lee grimaced. "I meant to send that off last week."

"But wait—let me guess," she smiled, "you got distracted."

"Crap." Lee exhaled and he slid Kara down his body and back onto her feet. "I should probably get that."

Kara kept her arms tightly wrapped around him. She wasn't ready for the real world to intrude just yet. She planted a kiss on the side of his jaw. "You can call him back."

The phone continued to ring.

Lee planted a quick kiss on her lips. "I'll just be a minute."

He released her and slipped around the corner to grab the phone. At that moment Kara noticed that the kitchen was definitely starting to smell like blueberry muffins. Grabbing a potholder, she ran across to the oven and pulled them out just in time. She was still scooping them out of the tray and onto a plate, trying not to burn herself when Lee appeared in the doorway.

"Gods Lee, you've got to taste these. I think for the first time ever I've managed to make something that doesn't completely suck." Kara shoved a stray crumb into her mouth before she noticed that his face was unnaturally pale.

She tilted her head inquisitively. "What is it? Tiller pissed about the delay?" Kara grinned. "I give you full permission to blame it on your wonderful-yet-highly-distracting partner."

He just held up a hand and shook his head. "It … wasn't Tiller," he finally managed to say. He sank into a chair at the kitchen table, his eyes fixed on some nonexistent spot across the room. Slowly, Kara approached him and sat down as well. She carefully placed her hands on his knees.

"Lee—what's wrong?"

The blank look on his face seemed etched in stone. "Zak."

She felt her heart skip a beat. "What about Zak?"

"There—there was an accident," his voice was empty, disoriented. "Viper training mission…. There was a malfunction and he wasn't able to safely land his bird…."

"Oh gods," Kara began, a hundred horrible things running through her mind. She grabbed Lee's hands. "Is he hurt? Is it bad?"

Lee absently looked down at their joined hands, as if he'd only just realized who he had been talking to. His eyes were vacant as they met hers. A stranger's eyes.

"He's dead."

_He's dead._ The words echoed in her ears as if he'd shouted at the top of his lungs. Stunned, Kara let go of his hands and sank back into her chair. Zak … dead. It just couldn't be possible. How could he be gone? She thought about his smile, the spark in his eyes, the infectious laugh, all that brightness. How could someone so godsdamn _alive_ be dead?

Then the rest of what Lee had said began to sink in. _Accident. Training mission. Flying. Vipers._

_Oh. Gods. No._ The pieces came together in such quick succession that if she hadn't already been sitting down, she was sure the realization would have knocked her to the floor. The room began to spin, and she was on the verge of passing out. She clinched her fists, digging her nails so deeply into her palms until the pain was the only thing she could think about.

"I—I—need—air," she gasped and pushed to her feet.

Lee nodded automatically, eyes still staring into space. She doubted he had even heard her.

Kara took a step forward and reached out a shaking hand to touch his shoulder, but she stopped in midair.

_Accident. Training mission. Flying._ The words repeated themselves over and over.

She went to the back door instead.

She made it to the edge of the woods before her feet took off. Leaping, jumping, bounding through the forest at breakneck speed. She swerved, barely missing a low-hanging branch, her arms and face stinging from the tiny scrapes left behind by dead twigs. She hadn't bothered to put on shoes, and she could feel sharp rocks and splinters of wood piercing the soles of her feet, but she couldn't feel a thing. She just had to keep running.

Kara ran until she was out of oxygen, until her lungs were burning and she could barely breathe. Unable to completely miss a boulder in her path, her foot caught on the edge, sending her into a sideways tumble that sent her reeling down a hill. After falling several dozen feet, her lower back collided with a large tree trunk, bringing her to a painful stop.

She rolled over just enough to lie on her back, clutching handfuls of wet dirt and staring up at the sky. _Flying. Malfunction. Wasn't able to land—_

The world began to spin again and she flipped to her side just in time to heave up the contents of her stomach. Panting and choking, she pulled herself up against the tree trunk, forehead resting against the damp bark.

_He was gone_, she repeated over and over to herself. _He was gone. He was gone. He was gone._

And it was all her fault.

Kara felt like she might just drown. She ran her fingers through her hair, clutching handfuls before scraping her nails down her throat in an attempt to keep down whatever emotion threatened to spill over.

_Breathe, breathe, breathe_, she chanted.

She felt eight years old again, the smoke from a burning prayer box stinging her eyes and scorching her lungs.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to no one at all. The tears began to slide down her face and she did nothing to stop them. "Oh Gods, I'm so sorry."

_Save your prayers_, a familiar voice answered. _Haven't you figured out by now they don't listen to you? _

The image of her dead mother seemed to materialize out of thin air. Kara tightened her grip on the tree.

"Mama?"

The lines across Socrata's mouth were harsh. _You think I wouldn't see this? That I wouldn't notice what's become of you?_

"I was just trying to do what's right," Kara bit out.

_What's right_, Socrata sneered. _Sending that boy to his death? That was right?_

"But he wanted it so badly," Kara whispered. "It meant so much to him. I—I thought he'd get better eventually. He just—needed time."

_You thought wrong_, the voice replied. _Look what you've become. _

"What I've become?"

_Soft! Unguarded and spineless. I taught you better than that._

Anger for all the years her mother took out the absence of Kara's father on her roared to the surface. "Being strong doesn't mean you have to be alone!" she yelled back.

Her mother ignored her anger. _You're weak, Kara. Weak and selfish and stupid and you gave in to your emotions. _

"What's wrong with caring for someone? Loving someone?" she argued.

The voice softened and turned almost sweet. _Haven't you figured it out by now? That's not what you were meant for. You're a cancer, Kara—you're meant to be a weapon of the gods. Anyone you care about will be taken down with you._

"You're wrong," Kara snapped, digging her fingers into the tree.

_You know I'm not. You killed this one because you cared._ She paused a moment before delivering the final blow.

_Give it long enough, and you'll do the same to his brother._

Kara felt the air leave her lungs as swiftly as if someone just kicked her in the stomach. The image of Zak's viper played through her mind, canopy on fire, hurtling towards the ground. She blinked and the vision replayed itself—but with a different Adama this time.

_Lee._ The thought of losing him nearly tore her in half, and she knew in that moment she'd do anything—_anything_—to keep history from repeating itself. It might not be in battle, it might not have anything to do with flying, but she knew what she was.

"Frak you!" she hissed, but the vision was gone. She was all by herself in the forest, clutching at an old tree and struggling to keep her sanity.

The tears spilled over then, pouring out, and she cried until she thought there was no way she could ever manage to cry again.

After awhile though, the emotion began to drain out of her, replaced by numbness and a frightening amount of clarity. Straightening up on trembling legs, she got to her feet with a resolve she never dreamed she had in her. She knew what had to be done. There was penance to be paid, and sins to atone for.

Taking several deep breaths, she began to dust off the dirt and the caked-on mud that streaked her arms and legs. She cleaned off the random cuts and scrapes as best she could, brushing the leaves and dirt off her clothes as well. When she got to her shorts, she paused, feeling something small and round in the pocket. She reached in and pulled it out.

Zak's ring.

She must have slipped it into these shorts the morning he left. She traced the smooth surface, carefully touching it as if she was still holding a piece of him. Gently, she brought it to her lips and kissed the cool metal before slipping it on her thumb. From now on, this is where it would stay. It was the least she could do to honor his memory. Slowly, painfully, she began to make her way back up the hill.

Penance started now.

~~vvvvvvv~~~~~~vvvvvv~~~~

_"Come on, Lee! We're going to miss it." _

_The dark-headed boy ran through the woods, dodging the last couple of trees until he reached a clearing at the base of a tall chain-link fence. Seven-year-old Zak climbed up onto a nearby boulder so he could stretch out and get a better view. Eleven-year-old Lee followed at a much more leisurely pace before climbing up to join his brother._

_The sun was setting over the Picon Colonial Fleet Airbase, and the vipers that had been out on CAP were set to land and be replaced with another squadron. Lee and Zak often snuck up here—their house was only about half a klick from the base. They'd wait until their mom settled in for the evening with her usual bottle of wine and then sneak out the front door and hurry down the side streets of their well-groomed suburban neighborhood. Two cow pastures and a patch of woods later and they were right at the end of the base's primary runway. _

_"Gods, look at that one!" Zak pointed to Mark II that just launched. "I'm gonna fly those suckers one day, Lee. I'm gonna be the best pilot there ever was. Better than dad even!"_

_Lee frowned at the mention of his father but let the moment pass. "Wouldn't you rather do something… on the ground?"_

_"No way," Zak chirped. "How can anything down here compare to being up there? It's just like Grandpa Joe said—the Fleet is in our blood." He nodded sagely. _

_"I don't think he meant that as a good thing," Lee muttered. Still, he couldn't help but feel a thrill as he watched a viper streak through the red-orange sky._

_Zak wasn't listening, he was too busy staring at the ships landing and taking off. His face was so open and carefree; the look of a dreamer with the cheerfulness to match. "Oh yeah," he said sometime later. "I'm definitely going to be up there one day." He turned his head to face his brother. "How about you?"_

_Lee stared at the sky a long time before answering. He had no intention of being anything like his father—unlike Zak's bedroom which was covered with Fleet-themed everything and huge posters of different kinds of spacecraft, Lee's was sparse. A few books, a couple of stacks of sheet music, and absolutely nothing to do with the military. But he had to admit—thoughts of his dad aside—the idea of flying had always fascinated him._

_Lee shrugged. "I dunno." He looked over at his brother, all eager and excited and ready to throw himself headlong into anything and everything. Deep down he knew there was no way he could just let Zak wander off and join the Fleet by himself. Lee had never considered it before that moment, but the words just seemed to tumble out without any thought. "I guess if you're gonna be flying up there, I'll have to do it too. Keep you out of trouble and all." He kept his eyes fixed on the dimming sky and counted the stars that were starting to come out. _

_Zak's head popped up. "Really?"_

_Lee gave his brother a playful shove. "Well, it is kinda my job— looking out for you and all."_

_Zak gave him a broad, gap-toothed grin. "Oh, come on. You know you wanna be up there just as much as me."_

_Lee kept a straight face. "Maybe."_

_A few more minutes passed. "You'd really do it?" Zak said softly. "For me?"_

_Lee looked over at his younger brother. "Yeah, I would." He saw the excitement build on Zak's face and knew what was coming. He held up his hands. "Now just wait a sec. That's like ten years away, and you're probably gonna change your mind fifty times between now and then."_

_Zak shook his head adamantly. "I'm not gonna change my mind."_

_Lee rolled his eyes. "Yes, you will."_

_"Nope. No way."_

_"We'll see."_

_"I'm not gonna change my mind."_

_"Whatever."_

_"I'm not. I'm gonna do it, Lee—and you're gonna be up there with me."_

_Lee sighed. "Just watch the vipers, Zak."_

_Zak leaned back and looked up at the sky, a bright smile fixed on his face. They sat there in silence until night fell and the last bird landed. _

He couldn't be gone. No way.

From ever since he could remember, there had been only one constant in Lee's life. The person he'd taught to fish and play catch in the backyard. The only one who could ever talk him into entering a boxcar race at the age of thirteen. The reason he'd learned to cook. His loyal friend, his most devoted follower. As the years went by, Lee became the one to review report cards and sign their mom's name on field trip release forms and help with algebra homework and worry about the results of the junior varsity pyramid team tryouts. The reason for a hundred talks and a thousand moments that kept him sane over the years—the reason he'd stayed home as long as he did even though their mom stopped talking to Lee when he quit his music lessons. The only one who could talk him down from the stores of anger he saved up for their dad. The reason he'd learned to fly.

Zak couldn't be gone, he kept telling himself. He just … couldn't be. Lee clutched the edge of the kitchen table, still glued to the same seat he'd collapsed into after he gotten the phone call.

Part of him wanted to jump up and call back the colonel who'd just delivered the news. Demand to see evidence of the wreckage. Proof of positive ID. But he knew there was no way they would call unless they were absolutely sure.

_Zak was dead._ The phrase repeated itself over and over like an echo until he couldn't hear anything else. A wave of grief came up at that moment and it's as if Lee were standing on an actual shore, watching the water close in on him. He knew that once it did, there would be no coming back.

He held onto the edge of the table until his arms began to shake. His windpipe started to close up and he devoted every bit of energy to focus on taking the next breath and the next and the next.

He had to do something or he'd go crazy.

Jumping up, he grabbed the phone and called his mom. She was hysterical and already several drinks in. He did his best to calm her down, then booked the first available flight to Caprica City. His mother was no where near a world class parent, but she was still his mom, and he owed it to her to be there right now. He called the Fleet command headquarters to try and find out when his father would be coming back. The elder Adama was still out on a deep space mission and couldn't be reached for another three days. _Typical._ That's what Bill Adama did. Waltz in and talk about honor and duty and being a man and then leave someone else to clean up the mess. The old anger began to rise to the surface, pushing aide the grief for now. Lee hung onto it, hoping it would keep him sane for the next few days.

Running up the stairs, he grabbed a bag and began shoving stuff into it, packing whatever was nearby, throwing on some fresh clothes in the process. Three minutes later he was back downstairs, grabbing his keys and flicking off light switches. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Kara standing just inside the back door.

_Gods._ He'd forgotten she was there. He struggled for the words. "I have—I have to go. My mom…"

She just nodded.

Pausing, Lee set his bag down on the floor before approaching her. He had no idea what to say. The grief that threatened to take over was closely followed by a wave of guilt. Of what he'd done. What they'd done.

"When I get home, I'll call—"

She stopped him with a shake of her head. "No."

"No?" he echoed. His brain wasn't working nearly fast enough to keep up with what was going on.

Kara gestured from her to him. "This?" her voice was barely stronger than a whisper. "This never happened."

Lee felt the waves crash around him. "I don't understand."

Kara's face remained passive except for a faint, sad smile. "Yes, you do."

She turned and walked out the door before he could reply.


	14. Chapter 14

***********  
Epilogue  
***********

He saw her three more times after that.

First was at the funeral. He stood on one side with his mother—she on the other, holding his father's hand. Lee had no idea that those two even knew each other, but they seemed plenty close right then. The old anger burned through all the other emotions for a moment, until he looked down at what lay between them. The waves crashed in again.

The second was in the Academy brig. He'd been given three weeks of bereavement leave. Not that he needed it—he wanted anything other than free time on his hands. But someone had to tie up the loose ends. Bill Adama had been whisked back to his command and his mother was pretty much nonfunctional at this point, so that left him. He'd spent most of that time at the Academy, taking care to avoid the flight school. But it was still a college campus and gossip traveled fast. Wasn't long before he began to hear about Starbuck's latest exploits. Diving off the water tower and into the reservoir in the middle of the night, taking a swing at at least one superior officer, and getting busted for drunk and disorderly more times than she did as a cadet. It was one such night when he'd stopped to talk with a friend in the MP and overheard a call on the radio about someone having to drag her ass back to the brig for the third time that week.

Against his better judgment, he went over there. She was completely unconscious, passed out in a sprawled heap across the narrow metal bench. He could see some dirt caked on the side of her face along with a bit of dried blood on her lip and the early stages of a bruise on her cheek. She was a beautiful, catastrophic mess. Not even thinking about it, he called in a few favors and got her released, all but carrying her out to the cab he'd sent for. She never did realize it was him. It was for the best, he told himself. Didn't know what the hell he would have said anyway.

Third time—the last time—was at _Anthony's_. The night before he was scheduled to go back. He'd been down at the sims hangar, doing some research on Tiller's report, when he overheard a conversation among some of the instructors about Starbuck leaving for a new post. A post onboard the _Galactica_.

His first instinct was to hit something, but he decided he'd wait to believe it until he heard it straight from her. He found her in her regular booth, surrounded by friends and colleagues in a kind of send-off party. No need to ask about anything. Bill Adama had won her over as well. He'd gotten to Zak long ago.

She didn't see him until she wandered up to the bar to grab a fresh bottle of whiskey. She froze, and for a second he swore there was a hint of regret before she pulled the mask firmly into place. He didn't waste time with small talk.

"Is it true? _Galactica_?"

"Yeah." She paused, her eyes not meeting his. "Your dad doesn't need to go through this alone."

Lee saw red. "What the hell do you know about my father?"

She looked up, her eyes igniting. "Obviously more than you since you don't talk anymore."

His hands itched to hit something. Instead he leaned in close. "Stay out of it, Kara. You don't know anything."

She stared him down for a long moment before picking up a shot and raising it in a mock salute. "Fine." She turned and walked back to the table.

He stayed there a few minutes more until he saw her crawl into the lap of an overly attentive major. He didn't stay to watch the show; he just went out and frakked the first attractive blonde he could find. It was a habit he'd keep for the next two years.

He went back to War College, attacking classes and projects with a ferocity that surprised even him. Never went back to the lake house. A few months later he got a call from the family lawyer about a local couple wanting to buy it, and he signed the papers without a second thought. _As is, completely furnished_, the contract said. Perfect.

Tiller had been ecstatic about the results of their report. He'd given Lee a slap on the back and a hearty "Well done!" then waved him out of the room, murmuring about trying to outfit the prototype Mark VII's with some kind of fast-acting kill switch to create stealth flight now that they knew it was possible. And that's all there was to it. Mission accomplished, objective achieved. The legend of Starbuck and Apollo would live on forever—buried in the Fleet's vault of classified information.

Lee was promoted to Captain within the week.

Life gradually settled into a kind of normalcy. He kept up his work at school, dated one faceless woman after another, kept progressing, kept achieving. Life, unfortunately, did go on. And if you didn't know him very well, if you didn't look close, you'd have thought it was the same old Lee Adama—playing a game of pickup pyramid on the quad, lending a hand on a new test flight run, working late at night in the library on a never-ending thesis. But there was a deadness in his eyes, a numbness in his veins. The cost of control. Things began to slowly refocus, and living inside his head became bearable again. It was a subtle shift, but it made all the difference in the worlds. The old Lee would only sneak out unconsciously—a restless tapping of his fingers transforming into a glissando on some imaginary keyboard, standing in a rainstorm for a few seconds too long, searching in the crowd for a face he wouldn't ever find. But it never lasted for long.

The colors had faded and the lights had gone out. And the world moved on.

~~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Penance got easier over time.

If there was any consolation in the whole process, that was it. Stuck in the deep black, onboard a rusty, ancient bucket of a battleship, paying homage to the man whose son she'd taken, doing everything in her power to stay away from his other—it was the best she could do. Didn't fix anything, didn't make up for it by a long shot, but it was something.

Bill Adama's offer came out of nowhere, and she accepted without hesitation. She hadn't given any thought about what to do with her future, she just knew what she couldn't do. Couldn't teach, couldn't go back, couldn't stay.

After a while, exile became the norm. Her mother's voice grew quieter as she fell into the routine of life aboard a battleship. She reveled in the lack of responsibility—no nuggets to teach, no one else to look after. Instead she got regular time in her bird and a CO who didn't seem to mind her more colorful attributes. And somehow, along the way, she even got the tiniest hint of family. Of a home. Gods knew why though. It's not like she deserved it. Still, it was a small glimmer of something good, and she was thankful. Despite the past, Kara Thrace still said her prayers. There were some habits you just couldn't shake.

And so her life fell into a series of thoughtless habits. The rush of a deep-space viper launch, the diminishing burn of ambrosia during a triad game, the flavor of a favorite cigar. Gradually, the nightmares faded, and she stopped waking up to the smell of a burnt prayer box and the feel of damp handfuls of dirt between her fingers. Even the memories began to fade after awhile, and she was grateful. All the could-have-beens and might-have-beens washed clean away until there wasn't much left at all.

It could have gone on forever. A part of her wished that it would. But things moved on. They always did. And one day it came time to put the old girl out to pasture and find a new life to lead. Decommissioning day. Her past and her future were on the brink of colliding and she wasn't nearly ready to deal with it. So when Saul Tigh flipped over the triad table in the midst of a fit better suited to a five-year-old, she took the opportunity to try and shatter his cheekbone.

This was one flyby she'd do much better to miss.

~~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lee didn't even take the time think about why the hell he was headed straight for the brig. But after he'd checked in with the CAG and saw that Kara's name wasn't on the roster, he'd had to ask. And once Spencer had told him, his feet just moved of their own volition—not even stopping to get out of his flightsuit, and before he knew it he'd walked past the marine guard and there she was, not 6 feet away.

_Gods, she was beautiful_. He couldn't help it. Those were the first thoughts that entered his head. Beautiful and dangerous. For him at least.

It took a moment to recover from the shock of actually seeing her, then the words began to pour out. The opening line. The witty banter. Circling, watching, testing for weaknesses. It had always been their way. Amazing how it only took a few seconds for his brain to remember exactly how to react.

"So how long's it been?"

"Two years."

_Two years, three months, and twenty-seven days_. Not that he'd been counting.

"We must be getting old. Seems like the funeral was only a couple months ago."

_The funeral_. Of course. The only safe topic within reach. Their cover. The brig's bars were entirely unnecessary—Zak would always be there.

They chatted on for a few moments. Then she had to bring up his frakking father. All the old familiar anger and resentment came boiling to the surface. Why the hell did she think she had any right to interfere?

"Zak was my _brother_," he snapped.

She held his gaze without blinking. "And what was he to me … nothing?"

This was a mistake, he thought. He didn't know what he'd expected to find, but whatever it was, it certainly wasn't here. Her eyes had gone cold and the mask was back. Now she looked like she just wanted to hit him again. _Superior asshole_. He couldn't help but give her a bitter smile. Nice shot.

He began to walk away, but he couldn't help himself—he had to get one more look at her. Beautiful, spiteful… and fragile. What had the years done to her? To bad he wouldn't have the chance to find out.

~~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He skulked away, all ruffled pride and wounded ego. She couldn't help but watch him leave, fingers wrapping around the brig's bars until her knuckles turned white. She stared after him until he was gone. What was he like now? What had he become?

There were so many other things she wanted to talk about—so much she wanted to ask him. What was he doing now? She'd known he'd graduated from War College a few months back when the Old Man had brought it up. Did he still fly? Was he happy? Did he still play piano in the middle of the night? Did he play for anyone else now?

She shut down that train of thought before it had a chance to go any further. Best to keep things safe. There were certain topics that just weren't allowed anymore. The only thing she could think to bring up was his family. What else could she do? This was her fate. Mourn two men for entirely different reasons and spend most of her time trying not to think about it at all. Twisted and frakked up and so very her. She laughed to herself, disgusted.

_Oh mom, how proud you must be_.

~~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The past and future did collide that day—just not the way she'd anticipated. _Now_ got replaced with armageddon, staring down the road at what looked to be a never-ending war.

She felt the rush of a deep space launch again, but this was no training exercise. She was patching together decommissioned birds with wire and duct tape to get them ready to fly, leading a half-manned squadron into battle, weapons hot, firing at anything that moved. It was crazy and horrific and … exhilarating. She'd discovered long ago that there was a kind of clarity brought on by pain that just couldn't be matched. A part of her even craved it at times.

Well today, she'd hit the frakking jackpot.

It was only when the vipers were brought in and the FTL jumps made that the universe stopped spinning long enough to let her think. Running over the post-flight checklist with the maintenance crew, up to her elbows in grease trying to help with repairs—that's when it would all slow down enough to start to sink in.

Everything—everything in all the words—was gone. All dead. All destroyed. Seven million in Caprica City alone. It was too much to comprehend. But before the despair could set in, before she could think too deeply on any of it, they'd find more cylons and she'd be tossed back into space, doing what she did best.

It was only after the third round did she stop long enough to get the news from Chief.

_I don't know if you heard about Apollo…_

A pause.

"Right."

She flinched for a second—only for a second—before she shut it all down. She couldn't think—she _wouldn't_ think about it. She'd go crazy if she did. She just kept putting one foot in front of the other, taking slow, steady breaths and just kept on moving.

Somehow she ended up in front of her locker, flightsuit stripped down, just standing there. There was nowhere else to go.

50 billion people dead and all she could think about was one person. He was gone. It didn't matter what she did or didn't do. In the end, he was lost anyway.

She reached out and took the picture of her and Zak, and, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one else was watching, she slowly unfolded the right side. And there he was. Her guilty secret. The rest of the story. A snapshot taken of all three of them together the week before Zak's graduation. They had taken a break from researching the mission to play a quick game of pyramid. Her fingers caressed his face, aching for all that had been lost even as she chastised herself yet again for the sheer betrayal of having kept the picture in the first place.

Then the words began to pour out.

"Lords of Kobol, hear my prayer.

Take into your hands the souls of your sons and daughters lost this day

…especially that of Lee Adama."

It was only after the room was silent did the tears fall. Kara slid into a heap on the floor, picture in her hands, and wept. He was gone. He was gone and he'd never come back.

But then, of course … he did.

~~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_"I'll be in the squadron ready room."_

Kara wasn't sure why she had come. Probably a mix of wanting to make sure her eyes hadn't been playing tricks on her and a halfhearted attempt to meet the unspoken challenge he'd laid down. He was standing in front of the assignment board, studying the names and making corrections. She hovered in the doorway and leaned back against the frame, hands tucked behind her, not quite knowing what to do.

Sensing someone in the room, he turned, his eyes widening for only a moment.

Kara took a step forward, wrapping her arms protectively around her. She closed the distance between them and just stood there, studying his face. Making sure he was real.

She reached out to touch him, but her hand couldn't quite make contact. Instead, the fingers balled up and she brought her fist to her lips. She wanted to move, but something overrode her determination and she stayed where she was, fingers clenching and unclenching as she focused on breathing. He stood perfectly still, studying her just as intently as she was studying him.

She felt the tears sting her eyes, but she refused to think about why. She leaned the tiniest bit closer, enough to see the pulse flutter along his neck and the steady rise and fall of his chest. Finally, she couldn't hold back any longer and reached out again.

Fingertips carefully touched the side of his face.

"You're here," she whispered.

He grabbed her hand and held on tight. "I'm here."

She wasn't sure who moved first—or maybe they both moved at once—but before she knew it, his hand wrapped around her neck and pulled her towards him just as she slid one arm over his shoulder and the other around his torso. His free hand wrapped around her waist and pulled her close. She could swear to gods she almost heard an audible _click_ as they locked into place.

Kara didn't know what the hell this was or what the frak it meant, and she didn't care. The only important thing right now was that he was here. And so was she. She just held on tighter. She had no idea what tomorrow would bring or how they'd all survive or if they'd even they'd make it through the week, but right now—in this moment—none of that mattered. It was just him and her.

And that was all she needed.

**_****The end.****_**


End file.
